


Warm Blooded Animals

by saltwatergirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternative-Universe, Amnesia, Barebacking, Bondage, Captivity, Consent Issues, Denial, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, Forced Confinement, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soldier Liam, Stockholm Syndrome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:06:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 32,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwatergirl/pseuds/saltwatergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An amnesiac soldier keeps a car crash survivor captive in a remote cabin during a snow storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note of the tags & Archive Warnings. 
> 
> Thank you, [Equallydestructive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/equallydestructive) for the beta read.

Zayn took his eyes off the road for one second, possibly even less than that, but one second was all it took for a fucking fox to appear in the middle of the road. He jerked the steering wheel as his car skidded on the icy road, but it wasn’t enough. The car catapulted into the air, spinning, around and around. Blue sky, dashboard, steering wheel. Blue sky, dashboard, steering wheel. It would have been fun if it wasn’t so darn terrifying. _This is what it must be like inside of a washing machine_ , he thought.  Dizzying, too fast and too loud.

Blue sky, dashboard, steering wheel. He was going to die and he had barely done anything with his life. His family would be devastated. He should have visited his Mum more often. He wondered who would find his body—would there be anything left of it to be identified? Blue sky, dashboard – _crash_. Pain, white hot, engulfing him, and then-

Nothing.

#### ***

Zayn slipped into consciousness and it felt like every part of his body was in pain. He tried to move and his muscles protested, an electrifying agony shooting up his arms. He was on something soft. A bed. Someone must have found the crash site. He twitched his fingers and toes. He wasn’t paralysed. Good. He needed to get a nurse and ask her if they’d called his family. He needed to hear how bad his injuries were. For a moment, lying there in the snow, staring up at the sky, he had feared the worst. He had been thrown from his car, landing next to it. When he had opened his eyes he was greeted by a panoramic view of the wreckage. Out in the snow he couldn’t move with flakes of snow landing on his face and into his open mouth. He had thought he was going to die, if not from his injuries then from exposure, and all he could do was watch the white snow soak up his blood.  

He must have blacked out and—no, that wasn’t right. There had been something there. A shape had loomed over him, face concealed by a dark mask, blocking his view of the sky, but that must have been an effect of his injuries. Brain damage or something. Because he was here. In the hospital. An ambulance must have come. He needed to check if his family knew where he was, call Harry and Louis to tell them that he’d gotten into an accident and that he wouldn’t make the opening night of the film festival.

Zayn blinked, his eyes squinting at the onslaught of light. He took in the wooden walls, the fire burning in the corner. _What the hell?_ He glanced down at himself. He was on a bed. His shirt had been ripped open; the wound on this torso had been treated. He raised his head to get a better look; his arms were handcuffed to the bedpost. He tried kicking out his legs, but there was some resistance, and a quick glance told him that they were tied to the bottom of the bedpost. His heart started to beat rapidly. He yanked his feet, but the only thing he achieved was skinning his ankles raw. He wanted to scream, but his mouth was gagged closed. He thrashed about, the headboard thudding against the wall from his efforts.  

_Think, Zayn, think._ He pulled at the handcuffs, testing how much give they had. Fucking none. He looked around the room. It was small, the queen he was tied on occupying most of it. At the fireplace, there were blocks of wood stacked high, indicating that it had been recently tended. There was a small wardrobe in the corner of the room. On his left was a window, the curtains dark and drawn closed, rendering him incapable of determining whether it was day or night. It didn’t feel like a lot of time had passed. Zayn drove with the radio on and the news had just ended, so it must have been about ten in the morning when he crashed, but then he’d hit his head pretty darn hard when he’d been thrown out the car. Why hadn’t he been wearing his seatbelt? Too late for that now. He needed to get himself out of this. Where was he? _Focus._

The curtains were pulled shut. _Day or night?_ He rubbed his chin against his shoulder, feeling the prick of stubble. He’d shaved in the morning before leaving home. This felt thicker than a five o’clock shadow, which made it at least a day since he had last shaved. Good. It meant Harry and Louis would be wondering where he was if they asked his mum she would tell them he left at eight. People would start looking for him. They would check the roads, first the main, then the short cut he’d used to bypass the morning traffic. They would find the wreckage that used to be his car then find this place. Find him.

Until he was rescued, he was bound and at the mercy of his captor. He felt the panic start to rise and he breathed through it. He needed to keep his shit together and hold out until he was rescued. He needed to—

The door opened and the figure that entered was clad in a camouflaged military uniform, an iron mask sat where a face should have been. All thoughts of not panicking left Zayn’s mind and he struggled to free himself from the bed, but it was a futile task. His captor had ensured that.


	2. Chapter 2

The detainee was awake.

The soldier could hear him thrashing around in his room, headboard bouncing heavily against the wall. The sound reverberated through the cabin, causing the small coffee table to shake, and the coffee sloshed back and forth in his ceramic mug. He picked the mug up and took a sip of the acrid, lukewarm liquid, pausing mid-sip when the banging stopped and the cabin became quiet. Too quiet. He placed the mug down and stared at the wall. There was no way the detainee could have escaped; the handcuffs were locked tightly on his skinny wrists and the ropes tied expertly on his feet. Absolutely no way - but then again who knew, maybe the detainee had a weapon tucked away someplace he had missed when he had patted him down.

The soldier put the mug down, got to his feet, his ears were alert for any more noise that could mean the detainee was up and on his feet and escaping, but he couldn’t hear anything. In the drawer in the corner of the room was his Swiss Army knife; he pocketed it. He was almost out of his lookout station when he remembered his mask. He went back to the coffee table and eased the mask onto his face, wincing as the cold iron settled on his face.

He was ready for the detainee.

#### ***

The soldier couldn’t remember why he had been outside. When he heard a loud crash, he dropped the wood he had already collected and reached for his blade, looking around to see if there were other enemy combatant vehicles attacking. He crouched behind a tree, not seeing further signs of the enemy. His radio was off and he wasn’t sure if he should wait for Command before investigating.

“Sir, waiting for further instruction,” he had said, speaking to his radio. Nothing but static replied. His camp must have already been attacked. He could see thick clouds of smoke waft up into the sky and he made the decision to scope out the sight. He put on his ballistic mask, running in between the trees, and keeping covered as best he could as he made his way to the attack site. There was a vehicle lying on its side, wheels still spinning feebly in the air.

“Unknown vehicle spotted,” he whispered into his receiver. “Command, please advise whether I should engage.” He got onto his belly, crawling through the snow to get a closer look. There was a figure lying about a metre and a half from the crash. “I have visual of a solitary male who appears to be injured. He could be an enemy combatant. Do I have permission to engage?”

Still nothing but static. He dropped his radio and checked the perimeter and there was no sign of the guerrillas. He got to his feet, ran to the figure, and dropped a hand to the possible enemy combatant’s throat. He was still alive if the weak pulse was any indication, but barely. The soldier reached into his cargos and pulled out a knife, tearing off strips of fabric and pressing it to the combatant’s bleeding midsection.

He would return with him to the base, but first he had to do something about the vehicle. It was smoking, giving clear signal to anyone who might be looking for it as to where they were. He dug into the ground, digging up lumps of snow, and threw at the vehicle. Once the fire was out he pulled down thick branches and used them to cover the car as best he could. Once he was sure it was camouflaged he gathered the combatant into his arms, hoisted him over his shoulders, and walked back to the base.

#### ***

The combatant was now a detainee of the British Army and it was the soldier’s duty to serve his Queen and country by extracting as much information from the detainee until Command took over the reins of the situation. Slamming the door shut, the soldier stepped inside the room. The sound made the detainee tremble. He walked in leisurely, the wooden floors creaking under his combat boots, and his hand on the knife.

Judging from the flexing of the detainee’s jaw, he was trying to scream, but the rags stuffed into his mouth ensured that the sound came out as nothing but a low whimper. It was a pathetic sound, like a mouse scratching at a barn door, so insignificant in the grander scheme of things. The soldier took his knife out and placed it at the bottom of the bedpost. The detainee’s eyes were tearing up and he pulled at the restraints, hard enough to cut circulation, and his hands and feet were turning white. The soldier scraped the blade along the bed and the detainee closed his eyes, tears squeezing out and falling onto his cheeks. The detainee could cry all he wanted, but the soldier wasn’t going to fall for it. The crying, the fear – it was all an act.

A day had passed and the soldier hadn’t heard from Command. His radio sat in its charger, nothing but silent static emitting from it. Had there been an attack? Was the man who lay crying feebly on that bed part of it? The soldier cut the gag. The detainee spat it out and looked at him, recoiling away as he pulled a chair up and dragged it close to the bed and sat on it, keeping the hand with the knife up.

“Who are you? What do you want?!” the detainee screamed.

When he had been treating the detainee’s injuries, the soldier hadn’t gotten a look at him, but now he could see the clean outline of the detainee’s features: dark eyes framed by thick lashes, high cheekbones, arched eyebrows and a deceitfully delicate-looking frame. The soldier tapped his knife on the bed frame, letting the silence grow.

“If its money you want, my parents aren’t wealthy,” the detainee said, eyes following the movement of the blade on the wooden bedframe, “but please call them, tell them I’m all right; my mum’s probably sick with worry.”

The detainee started to cry again, tears running down his face as he continued to plead to see his mother. The tears weren’t going to work - it was a nice divergence from the usual threats, but the soldier was not fooled. _I’m not going to get anything today_ , he thought. He stuffed the gag back into the detainee’s mouth, checked the handcuffs and restraints, ensuring they were still tight, before returning to his lookout point and his silent radio.

The detainee would eventually talk. They always did.


	3. Chapter 3

The door was closed shut and the masked maniac left. Zayn tried to calm down and he yanked at his restraints, but they were as tight as they had been earlier. He felt the panic start up again, terror welling up in his chest. Oh god, oh god, he was being held captive by some mute madman. His captor didn’t want money; one didn’t live out in the middle of the fucking woods if they cared about material things, which meant he wouldn’t be calling his parents to ask for a ransom. He had carried Zayn away from the wreckage just because he could. But why?

Why was he keeping him here? Why didn’t he speak? Why was he wearing that iron mask? It was a good sign he didn’t show Zayn his face- his captor didn’t want Zayn to be able to identify him when he let him go. But when would that be?

He felt lightheaded from the hyperventilating and he sank back into the bed, feeling his bladder throb, telling him he would need to use the bathroom soon. How was he going to ask for it? He closed his eyes, trying to sleep. He would preserve his strength, keep observant, and maybe he could find a way out of this nightmare.

It was ages before he fell asleep.

#### ***

Zayn was woken by the incessant pressure of his bladder. He didn’t know how long he had been out of it, it could be a few minutes or a couple of hours - there was no way to tell. The thick curtains provided no clue whether it was day or night and there was no outside sounds, nor early morning chirping of birds, or nocturnal crickets. He was in a suspended animation, in a vacuum, waiting for whatever would come next, helpless and pathetic.

He yanked at the restraints, feeling them dig into his arms, the skin rubbed raw, but he kept at it, pulling with all his strength, the pain growing greater as he felt his skin break, but still no give. He banged against the headboard. _Bang, bang, bang_. His eyes began to prickly with tears, he was tired of crying but he couldn’t hold them in.

Why had he veered off the main route? The road works had caused traffic to back up, but he would have gone through eventually and he would’ve arrived at the festival. He would be drinking, hanging out with his mates, enjoying the short break in between exams. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He thrashed back onto the headboard. He was going to piss himself if he didn’t go to the loo soon, but the idea of sitting in his own urine made him bang at the headboard harder. The door opened and his captor looked in, the Swiss knife still in his hand. Zayn beckoned with his head for him to come in. His captor walked in and yanked the gag out roughly. Zayn coughed and tested out his jaw.

“I need to piss,” he sputtered out. He stared daggers at his captor. “Do you hear me? I need to use the toilet.” The figure was still immobile and mute. Did this person even speak English? There was no way to know. The figure was covered from head-to-toe and he couldn’t even tell his captor’s ethnicity or age. From the broad shoulders and height he was certain the person who was keeping him prisoner was male. Apart from that, he had nothing. “Do you want me to piss myself? Is that it?”

The figure un-handcuffed Zayn’s right hand and stupidly Zayn tried to throw a punch, but he missed. His hand was held in an iron vice by his captor while his other arm was freed. His captor sat Zayn up and handcuffed Zayn’s arms behind his back before he untied the ropes tying Zayn’s legs to the bed. He pulled Zayn up to his feet, catching him when Zayn’s knees buckled down.

Zayn took a breath, gathering his sense of balance and shaking the hands gripping his arms. They left his arms only for one to be placed on his shoulder and one low on his lower back and he was led to the door. His captor opened it and led him down a dingy wood panelled corridor and through a doorway. It was a small bathroom. Its walls were made of thick, wooden logs like the rest of what he’d seen of this place.  There was an aged toilet in the corner, a tiny washbasin, and a shower. His captor pushed him forward and he hobbled over to the toilet.

“Free my hands,” Zayn said. No response. He looked behind him. “How am I supposed to piss if I can’t use my hands?” His captor reached from behind him and placed his hands on Zayn’s buckle and Zayn recoiled. “What the hell?” He felt his heart start to thud, but there was nowhere to run to - he was trapped by the wash basin on his left, the wall on his right, and his captor behind him.

His captor undid the buckle and pulled down the zipper. He reached inside Zayn’s pants and took out his cock, aiming it at the toilet bowl. Zayn squeezed his eyes shut, acutely aware of the leather-clad fingers grasping his dick, but his bladder was throbbing and he couldn’t hold it in. He started to urinate, the sound of his piss hitting the toilet bowl loud in the quiet room. When he was done, his captor shook his dick and returned it to his boxers and then the zipper was pulled up, hissing _zzzzzzz_ quietly. The foreign hands returned to his shoulders and he was spun around and led out of the bathroom. Zayn took in as much as he could of the narrow passage for any clues of where they were. The wooden walls were barren and aged. On closer inspection there were faded out spaces, square and rectangular, telling of picture frames that once had been hung up. The room he was being kept in looked like the only bedroom, so his captor must have stationed himself in the living room. There was a boarded up window at the end of the corridor, which meant if he ever freed himself, the bathroom window would be his best means of escape. He was pushed into the room and his captor untied his arms before placing him on the bed. His restraints were returned, but this time a blanket was placed over him. His captor walked to the door.

“Are you gonna wipe my arse too when I take a shit?” Zayn called out, watching his captor pause at the door. Fucker probably hadn’t thought that far. His captor opened the door, walked out, and locked it from the outside.

#### ***

The soldier left the detainee and went to go wash his hands at the washbasin. The detainee had brought up a good point. He didn’t have a long term plan in place. He dried his hands and went to his station, writing down today’s activities in his war journal.

_"Day Two – Detainee needed to urinate, I escorted him to the bathroom and let him use the facilities. Long term plan for bathing and other bodily functions???”_

He tried the radio; still nothing. Command was simply…

Gone.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The soldier fried two eggs and cut a thick slice of bread. He made a cup of tea, adding two heaping spoons of sugar. He placed the items on a tray, ignoring his stomach when it gave a violent growl; he’d prepare some food for himself later. Balancing the tray against the wall, he turned the key and went inside, closing the door after himself. The detainee was propped up on the bed, suspiciously eyeing him and the tray. He placed the tray on the stand next to the bed and picked up the knife and fork. He cut up pieces of the egg whites with golden yolk and held them up at the detainee’s mouth.

“Untie me and I’ll feed myself,” the detainee said, his eyes dropping to the food being held out at him before swallowing thickly.

The soldier kept the fork held out and waited until the detainee sighed and opened his mouth, allowing the soldier to carefully ease the fork of food into his mouth. The detainee chewed and swallowed while the soldier cut up more bread, buttered it, scooped some of the pieces of eggs, and fed the detainee, his own stomach giving a hollow ache of protest at the smell of food. He ignored it. Food was running low and the supply was not designed for two, but he wasn’t going to starve the detainee -this wasn’t Nazi Germany.

“Some water,” the detainee said.

The soldier picked up the glass and carefully placed it to the detainee’s lips, watching him sip the water, slim throat undulating gracefully as he swallowed down the entire glass. Once the detainee was done the soldier placed the glass down and fed his captive the rest of the meal until all that remained on the plate were crumbs of bread and thick streaks of yellow yolk. He placed the fork and knife down and raised the mug of tea to the detainee’s lips, letting him take intermittent sips. He leaned over the left side of the bed, his hands gripping the mug, watching his detainee seal his mouth onto the mug. The skin under his detainee’s eyes was bruised and blue, but his colour was good, which meant the wound on his stomach wasn’t infected. He would have to clean it later on today. The detainee was shaking his head and the soldier pulled the cup away.

“That’s enough,” the detainee said, resting his head on the headboard, dark eyes on him. Even though the soldier knew the detainee couldn’t see him, he looked away, focusing on the worn-out headboard. “Why are you keeping me here?” the detainee asked. “Please let me go, I’ll forget about everything that’s happened. I won’t call the police. I promise.”

Playing up the lost boy role was obviously a ruse to make the soldier lower his guard. It was convincing; the wide, hazel-brown eyes eclipsed with Hollywood-perfect tears, those pink lips trembling as his detainee drew in long shuddering breaths, his jaw clenching in a valiant effort to stay brave and strong. That was definitely Academy Award level of talent right there, but it was wasted on the soldier. He checked the handcuffs again, noting that he would have to lock them at a different spot later because they were chaffing his detainee’s wrist. He gathered the trays and left the room.

#### ***

The soldier did a parameter inspection of the base before returning to his lookout point. He picked up the journal and wrote, “ _Vulnerable Points – bathroom window not boarded up. Rear of base not fortified.”_

To board up the bathroom window and make it less of a VP he would need planks of wood. He put the journal down and went outside, pulling his jacket tight around his chest as the wind enveloped him. He searched until he found thick pieces of wood and he spent the rest of the day chopping it into usable lengths. The snow continued to fall in cloudy whiffs, his breath huffing out in thick white clouds. The cold seeped through his jacket and he shivered as he raised the axe to chop the last piece of wood.

The first things he did when he walked back into the base was to turn the water heater on and put some food onto the stove. He gathered the planks of wood and boarded up the bathroom window, carrying in an old link chain he had found out in the woods and attached it to the towel rail before pulling on it with all his strength. The chain was sturdy and didn’t pull free from the wall. The soldier walked to his detainee’s room and unlocked the door, entered, and pulled the blanket off the detainee.

“What are you doing?” his detainee asked, shrinking away. The soldier untied his detainee’s arms and secured them behind his back. His feet were next and once they were free he pulled his detainee’s jeans off, ducking as legs came up to kick at him.

“Fuck off! Put my jeans back on,” his detainee shouted, thrashing around on the bed. The soldier pulled the bottoms free, leaving the detainee in nothing but the thin T-shirt and a pair of pants.  The detainee kicked at him again and the soldier easily ducked, gripping the offending limb with both arms. He looked at the leg in his hands and froze.

His detainee had a tattoo of a wolf on his calf. The soldier pulled the leg closer and studied the design. There was something familiar about it. A long time ago, before the cold, the guns, and the war. A wolf. No, that wasn’t right. Wolves?

“Let me go!” His detainee squirmed on the bed, trying to pull his leg free from the soldier’s grip. The soldier let him go, watching his detainee fall flat on the bed. He looked up in surprise like he hadn’t expected to actually succeed in pulling his leg free.

The soldier pulled his detainee up to his feet and marched him to the bathroom. He tied the detainee’s arms to the link chain that was attached to the towel rack before handing him soap and a towel. He closed the door and assumed the guarding stance, listening for any sounds of his detainee trying to escape.

#### ***

_“Bathroom window boarded up – no longer a VP. The detainee has multiple tattoos – one worthy of note is the large wolf on his calf. It looks familiar – what does it mean?”_

#### ***

When it went dark outside, the soldier gathered up his gear and hiked through the thick snow back to the crash site. He approached it slowly, his service weapon held up, on lookout for signs of the enemy. A quick sweep of the site didn’t reveal any disturbance, the branches he’d covered the vehicle with were still there and the snow on the ground was undisturbed.

He lit his flashlight and jogged to the car. He pulled off the thick branches until he was able to crawl through the passenger side window. It was a tight fit, but he managed. He opened the glove box and pulled out a cell phone, a wallet, and a Kit-Kat bar. He pocketed the items before shining the flashlight into the back seat; nothing but an old Cape Union jacket. He took the jacket.

Getting into the boot was a mission because the backseats had been crushed into the boot by the force of the impact. He had to kick at the boot cover a few times with his combat boots before it gave out. He crawled in face first, shining his flashlight into the crack of the boot finding a worn out backpack. He threw it out with the rest of the stuff. He exited the car, collecting all the items he had found before covering the car with as many branches he could find and jogging back to the base.


	5. Chapter 5

Zayn was still being held captive, but at least he was clean. He sat in bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling, memorising the design of the wood. Through the crack of the window boards in the bathroom he’d been able to see a bit of the outside world and had confirmed his suspicions that the cabin was in the middle of fucking nowhere with nothing but snow lined trees expanding as far as his eye could see. The sky had been a light grey, blanketed by heavy clouds, wind blowing so hard he could feel the walls rattle. Zayn had stepped reluctantly away from the window, pulling on his trousers before knocking on the bathroom door, indicating to his captor that he was done. This was possibly his second or third day being held captive, he realised. No one had heard from him for more than 48 hours, which was the amount of time the police needed to declare an adult as missing.

#### ***

Zayn awoke with a start, trying to sit up, but going half-way because the handcuffs binding him only allowed a small amount of moving space. His body was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged and uneven. The small fireplace in the corner of the room had been recently tended to and the fire was much taller than he recalled it being when he fell asleep. Zayn turned to lay on his side, remembering the dream which had awoken him.

He had been back in his car, trapped in the rubble, watching his blood drain out of him. It had felt so real that he could still feel the frigid snow and the paralysing fear running through him because he felt like he was dying. It had been a dream and he was still in this wretched cabin, his death not so imminent, but his future definitely uncertain. He watched the fire until he was lulled back to sleep.

#### ***

The second time he woke up, two hands were on his shoulders, shaking him. He opened his eyes and saw his captor standing over him. His captor sat down and held up a plate of food. Zayn rolled onto his back, wincing when he felt his wrists rubbing against the handcuffs. He opened his mouth and allowed the stranger to feed him like he was a child.

He chewed the food, noting it wasn’t as tasteless as it looked while he kept his eyes on his captor, trying to take in as much of him as he could. His captor was tall, maybe 5’11. His broad shoulders were clearly visible under the military uniform he wore. Zayn deduced from the army get up and the rigid posture, that his captor had some form of military discipline in his background. The way his captor had boarded up the bathroom told him that he was paranoid - maybe he was one of those crazy survivalists who thought the world was ending and was waiting for the reckoning out in the English countryside. Zayn swallowed his food and he shook his head when he was offered more.

“Why are you keeping me here?” Zayn asked. The dark holes of the mask stared at him and he tried to see through the iron to get a glimpse of the person underneath. “If you can’t speak, write it down.”

The silence carried on and his captor raised the spoon to him again. Zayn dejectedly opened his mouth and took another spoonful of food. He was fed until the plate was cleared and his captor held up a glass of water which Zayn drank until it was empty, some of it dribbling onto his chin. His captor wiped away the water with a gloved hand and he got up, gathered the plate and glass, and left the room, locking it from the outside.

#### ***

Zayn didn’t fall asleep. Instead he lay on the bed, counting down the seconds and minutes. He kept losing track and had to start over again until he gave up, staring at the fire, wondering if he was ever going to be rescued.

#### ***

His captor came in and untied Zayn’s arms and legs. He was led to the bathroom, the door closed after him. He used the facilities and then searched every inch of the bathroom. There was nothing that he could use as a weapon, not even a fucking toothbrush to fashion into a good old shank. He rinsed his hands at the sink, studying the red, raw state of his wrists, and stretched his legs and arms, getting as much blood into them as he could; he didn’t want to go back out to the hallway. He didn’t want to be tied to that bed again, but he also didn’t want his captor to take away his bathroom breaks, so he dried his hands on the mottled, faded towel and opened the bathroom door.

He was led back to the bed and his captor tied him to it again. Zayn shifted on the mattress, wondering how long it would be before he got bedsores. When he heard his name, it was so faint, he thought he had imagined it, but then there it was, low but clear enough for him to make out. Zayn glanced at his captor who was paused at the door, his back to Zayn.

“What?” Zayn asked, not sure he had heard correctly.

“Zayn,” his captor said and walked out, locking the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Zayn Javadd Malik. DOB: 11 January 1993. The driver’s licence was issued on the 11/10/2013. _Zayn._ He tried the name out, his teeth parting on the Z, dipping his tongue to draw out the A. The picture on the driver’s licence was of the same boy in the other room, but younger, face staring out at the camera, dark eyes beguiling.

There was something familiar about all of it, tugging at his memories. He’d had one of these, back in the day. Before he had been a soldier, he had been – something else. A boy. Somewhere far from the exploding bombs and the terror. Somewhere with the wolves. He closed his eyes, trying to call forward the memory.

A girl who looked like him was tugging at his arm as they ran to catch a bus. She kept turning around, eyes laughing as she pulled him along. “Hurry up, soldier. We’re missing the bus.”

The soldier opened his eyes. That wasn’t right, the voice was Command, not the girl’s. Back then, he hadn’t been a soldier. He had been –

A woman with kind brown eyes was holding a rubber duck out, making faces at him.  He was in a massive bathtub and he reached for the duck.  The woman was quacking at him and he laughed because only ducks quacked.  “You’re all pruney, Look at your chubby little hands.” He looked at his hands. “What must we do with you, soldier?”

He had once been so much more than a soldier.  A long time ago.

He returned back to the bathtub, squeezing at the yellow rubber duck, giggling at the quacking woman. His mum, he realised, the woman was his mother. “You’re all pruney! Look at your chubby little hands,” his mum said, just like she had before. He looked at his hands and his mum was right, they were all wrinkly and funny-looking. “What must we do with you, Liam?”

Liam opened his eyes.

#### ***

Liam carefully emptied each item he had salvaged from the detainee’s vehicle, categorising everything in his personal journal, not the one he kept for Command.

  _1x cracked cellphone (SIM and battery removed to prevent remote tracking), 1 x cellphone charger, 1 x home tattoo kit, 1 x can of black spray paint.  A wallet containing; cash value totalling 36 pounds, driver’s licence, and multiple credit cards.  Carton of cigarettes, 9 remaining (Zayn’s a smoker must update profile), 1x lighter. Gym bag containing: 3 x pair of pants, 1 x hoodie, 2 x T-shirts, 2 x pair of black socks. 1 x Gillette razor, 1x shaving cream, a box of condoms – 6 remaining (Zayn is sexually active), 1 x 50 grams of marijuana (Zayn makes use of recreational drugs), 1 x cologne (Fahrenheit 100mls). 1x A4 notebook titled “Zayn’s shit (containing doodles – or was it some type of code?). Pencil case containing; 5x multi-coloured marker pen, 1 x ballpoint pen, 1 x ruler, 1 x Staedler HB pencil, 1 x packet of Wrigley gum (peppermint flavoured) & a USB stick._

He carefully packed away the items, keeping the driver’s licence out for him to study. Zayn didn’t look like the enemy. The curve of his cheeks were boyish, the half-smile on his face shy. He didn’t look capable of banishing a firearm and gunning down civilians.  

But if life on the front line of a battlefield had taught him anything, it was that looks could be deceiving.

#### ***

Liam did a quick perimeter sweep of the base, checking every window to ensure that the boards were still intact. He picked up his rifle and went outside, checking that none of the traps he had set up for intruders had gone off. It was snowing heavily; he could barely see his own arms when he held them out in front of himself. The thick, grey clouds had blocked out the moon, making the nearby woods difficult to scope out. Liam collected firewood and cradled them in his arms as he walked back indoors.

He fed the wood to the hearth in the living room before going to Zayn’s room, unlocking the door. Zayn was on the bed with his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Liam walked across the room and tended to the fireplace, turning the coal and adding more pieces of wood, leaving unused logs by the wall. Liam looked at the boy on the bed. He kept waiting for Command to instruct him on what to do, but the radio remained silent. Probably because of the snow storm building up outside. Until the storm cleared, it would be just him and Zayn.

"Why are you lurking?" Zayn asked from the bed, his eyes still closed. Liam quickly looked away from him even though Zayn couldn't see him. "I know you can speak. I heard you say my name earlier." Liam stayed silent. "I can feel you staring."

Zayn opened his eyes as Liam walked to the bed and Zayn didn't react as he hovered over him. He pulled the blanket off Zayn, letting it drop onto the floor. He lifted up the tattered threads of Zayn's T-shirt and the gauze, and looked at the cut on Zayn's stomach. It wasn't red or inflamed, which was good. He carefully patted the gauze on the skin around the wound and pulled down Zayn’s T-shirt. Liam paused before covering him with the blanket. He left the room, locking it and returned to his lookout spot, sitting down next to the radio, waiting for Command.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains self-inflicted violence.

Zayn heard his captor click the door close and he quickly sat up on the bed. He tested the restraints on his ankles; they weren't as tight as they had been before, but they were firm enough that he couldn't pull his feet through. His captor had only handcuffed his right arm when he returned him to the room. Zayn yanked at the handcuff around his hand, trying to squeeze his wrist through, and he winced as the handcuffs started to bite into the knuckle. He paused, breathing deeply, and stretched out on the bed, pulling his arm up. He didn't give himself time to think before he raised his right hand up and as hard as he could, he slammed his hand against the wall. The pain was lightening hot, speeding like a bullet train through his body. Zayn bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. He hit his hand on the wall again and again until he heard a popping sound.

 He yanked his hand free through the handcuff and tried to untangle his feet, wincing at the pain that kept running up his right hand, trying not to look at how it was angled all wrong. His left hand was shaking too much to be of any use and he paused, composing himself, before he tried again. He was sweating, his shoulders aching, but he managed to pull the rope from his right foot. He quickly untied his left foot and got to his feet unsteadily, too much blood rushing to his head, making it throb. He stumbled to the window and tested the boards. They were etched deep into the wall with thick, steel nails. There was no way he would be able to pry them off. He walked to the door and pressed an ear to it. Nothing. He tried the handle, wincing when it creaked, but he went ahead and pulled it. Locked. _Fuck!_

He looked around the room. The windows were boarded and the door was the only way out. He got to his knees and looked under the bed, but he didn't see anything he could use to pick the lock. Zayn collapsed onto the floor, leaning his back against the bed as he cradled his right hand to his chest, realising he was still trapped.

#### ***

Liam sat at the murder hole, keeping surveillance of the woods. He hadn't eaten since the morning and his growling stomach wouldn't let him forget. There was still some rice and beans, but that was for Zayn. There was frozen game in the deep freezer and he’d have to go thaw it to prepare something for him and Zayn.  

He heard a low click and he perked up, looking through the rifle out into the dark. When he heard it again, it didn't sound like it had come from outside, but indoors. He stilled, there it was again. It sounded like it was coming from Zayn’s room. He put the gun down, picked up the Swiss knife and rose to his feet, slowly approaching the locked door. He pressed an ear to the door, listening. He didn't hear anything.

He turned the key and walked into the room. The bed was empty. Liam rushed to it, realising his error a moment too late. He turned just in time to see Zayn slam down a log of wood hard on his head. The pain was instant, hazing his vision red, but Liam lurched through it, reaching out blindly for Zayn. He felt a kick land on his left leg and he lost his footing, stumbling as his hands grasped at nothing but empty air. Zayn kicked at him again and this time it was Liam’s right leg that was the recipient of the assault. He fell on the floor, landing on his face. He felt himself being turned over and the knife he held pried from his slack fingers.

"Who the fuck are you?" Zayn called out. Liam rolled to his side, doubling over from the pain that was still blooming in his skull.  "Still not talking?"  Zayn said. He jabbed at Liam's side with one foot. "I guess it's time I looked at what's underneath that mask."

_No!_ Liam silently screamed. He tried to get on his hands and knees, but earned himself two swift kicks to his legs, and he landed face down on the floor yet again. With no option left, he began to crawl on his belly like a worm, but he was turned over and Zayn yanked at his mask, pulling it free from his face.

"Don't," Liam pleaded. Zayn pulled the mask off and Liam fell back, covering his face with his hands.

#### ***

Zayn held the mask and stepped back, almost tripping on the piece of wood he'd dropped earlier as he looked at his cowering and crying captor. His captor’s hair was cropped military-short and the rest of his face was concealed with both his hands. This was his chance to escape. He dropped the mask and ran out the bedroom door and into the living room. He tried the large front door. It was locked. He looked around the space, noting his bag and things set out on the table. There was an assault rifle set up in a square hole on the window. More military paraphernalia was neatly heaped around the room.

He rummaged through his things, finding his cellphone smashed to pieces. Zayn checked the drawers, there was a bound manuscript, “Frasier’s Frontier by J. Otto Arthur” the title read in Courier print, and with it were a multitude of pens and pencils. No keys. His captor must have them. Zayn picked up the knife and ran back to the bedroom, entering it cautiously. His captor was on the floor with his hands over his face, weeping. Zayn approached carefully.

"Drop your hands," Zayn said, stepping closer, "then reach in your pockets."

He waited. His captor slowly dropped his hands, revealing his face to Zayn. _Young_ , was the first thing Zayn thought. His captor was young and looked like he was about Zayn’s age. He had a square face, with a sprinkle of stumble on his jaw, and his teary eyes were brown. _Handsome,_ was the second thought Zayn had. Over time, all sorts of crazy Frankenstein-esque images had come to mind when he thought about his captor. The person who was staring up at him was a far cry from the maniac he had imagined.

"Hand me the keys for the front door," Zayn said. His captor reached in the pockets of the military cargoes he wore and pulled out a ring of keys. "Drop the keys on the floor and kick them here."

His captor dropped the keys and kicked them over. Zayn bent down for them and like a fucking springbok, his captor sprung up and tackled him to the floor, one hand descending to press down on Zayn's injured wrist. It fucking _hurt_. Zayn tried kicking out, but his captor had strength and size on his side. Zayn found himself being turned onto his stomach, his broken right hand being pulled tight behind his back and a knee being driven hard into his lower back. Zayn resisted and the knee pressed in harder against him.

"Stop struggling," his captor said. Zayn stopped moving, his face pressed uncomfortably against the dusty floorboards. "Your wrist is dislocated." Zayn gritted his teeth as he felt fingers press on his wrist, hissing when the pressure of the fingers increased. "Lucky for you I know my way around this type of injury." The fingers left Zayn and the knee retreated. Zayn was rolled onto his back and his captor quickly pulled Zayn's arms up with one hand and held him down with the other, pressing it firmly on Zayn's chest. "You could have gotten yourself killed out in those woods, Zayn," his captor said, staring down at him.

"That's better than being held prisoner by you," Zayn spat out, wriggling against the hands restraining him.

"You’re serious?" his captor asked. Why did he seem so fucking surprised?

"Out there, I have my freedom," Zayn said.

"Freedom is overrated."

"Says the madman keeping me here against my will."

"You're lucky I found you," Liam said. "One of the paramilitary squads could have gotten to you first." He leaned over, gripping Zayn's wrist more tightly, eyes roaming Zayn's body. "You don’t want to know what they would do to someone like you."

"What are you on about? What paramilitary squads?" Zayn demanded. This guy was beyond mental.

"We're in a middle of a war," his captor said, his voice incredulous like he couldn't believe how daft Zayn was being.

"No, we're not,” Zayn said. His captor studied him, eyes scanning Zayn’s face.

"What's the last thing you remember?" his captor asked. Zayn raked his brain. The last thing he remembered was seeing a fox in the middle of the road, swerving to avoid it, and then tumbling down the hill. It’d been fun- blue sky, white snow, _crash_ before blood and every single inch of his body aching from the cold.

"There was a fox on the road. I tried to avoid hitting it and I lost control of my car," Zayn said.

"And before?"

"I left for the festival and there wasn’t a war going on. We're in England, the Prime Minister’s David Cameron, the year’s 2014." Zayn said. His captor was staring at him, eyes assessing, his thick eyebrows knitting into one another. "Why’re you looking at me like that?"

"Just how hard did you hit your head? The year isn't 2014," his captor said. Zayn scoffed. Just how mental was this person? His captor lifted the hand he had on Zayn's chest and dug into his own pocket, pulling out a folded-up newspaper article. He held it up to Zayn's face, letting him read the headline. “This is from the last issue of World News, two months ago."

The headline read; _“No hope for lasting London ceasefire_ ”. The newspaper was dated 18 November 2017.


	8. Chapter 8

Liam pocketed the newspaper and got to his feet before reaching for Zayn's uninjured hand, pulled him up and guided him to the bed. From the wide-eyed expression Zayn wore he either had no idea about the war or he really was a good actor, playing the role of ‘bewildered bystander’ down to the tee.

He sat Zayn down on the bed, tied his uninjured left arm to the bedpost and exited the room to collect the First Aid kit from his lookout station. On the way back he stopped by the kitchen where he poured a glass of water before he returned to Zayn’s room. Liam placed the water and the First Aid kit on the bed stand, pulled the chair close to the bed and sat on it.  He picked up Zayn's arm and felt his way around his right wrist, pressing his fingers down on Zayn’s skin, looking up at Zayn who was dead still, staring blankly ahead. 

"Lucky for you, the bone is dislocated not fractured or broken," Liam said, tapping his fingers, watching as Zayn winced when he pressed a bit harder. Liam reached for the bottle of disinfectant with his free hand and dabbed the area with cotton balls before he said, "Brace yourself." Zayn didn't respond, Liam went ahead and twisted Zayn's wrist hard, until the bone crunched into place. Zayn released a low pitched scream, his feet shuffling on the floor as he tried to pull free his arm from Liam's grip.  "I'm almost done," Liam said. He picked up the gauze and wrapped it around Zayn's wrist. He didn’t let go of Zayn once he was done, and curled his fingers around Zayn’s bandaged wrist like a loose fitting bracelet. Zayn kept silent, dark lashes falling down onto his cheekbones as he breathed. Liam guessed he deserved a bit of his own medicine and have Zayn dispense the silent treatment to him. He didn’t like it, though. He liked hearing Zayn speak, he realised. He liked the raspiness of his detainee’s voice, the pauses between words, the way his eyebrows would furrow when he was displeased. Liam let go of Zayn’s hand.

"All done," Liam said. “Would you like some water?”

"Let me go," Zayn said quietly.

"I'm keeping you here for your own safety."

"I find it hard to believe that I hit my head so hard I forgot the last four years of my life. I don't feel older,” Zayn gave Liam a cursory once over, “And you look too young to be a soldier or whatever it is you claim you are."

"I’ve been a member of Her Majesty’s Army since I was sixteen.”

"You expect me to trust you when I don’t even know who the fuck you are?"

"I’m Lance Corporal Liam Payne."

Zayn rolled onto his side, using his uninjured hand to pull the blanket over himself. "Leave me the fuck alone."

#### ***

The newspaper had been dated 18 November 2017. How the fuck was that possible? Zayn had been in his car, having left for the film festival where his friends were waiting for him. Next he was waking up in this cabin and his captor was saying he was imprisoned here for his own good— like being tied up like an animal benefitted him somehow. Zayn squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember, nothing came to mind but the last memory of leaving his house early, driving onto the freeway, opting for the inland route when traffic had backed up on the main freeway. Then his car was rolling down a snowy hillside.  Zayn sat up and winced.

“Liam!” Zayn called out and waited. “Liam!” There was the sound of heavy footfall and the door unlocked. Liam walked in, brows lifted expectantly.

“Yes?” Liam asked.

“I need to contact my parents,” Zayn said.

“All the signals are down,” Liam said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Command since yesterday – my attempts have been unsuccessful.”

“Why would there be a war in England?” Zayn asked, leaning back on the headboard. Liam sat on the chair and folded his arms, suddenly all business.

“Your last memory is of 2014?” Liam asked. Zayn nodded. “Late November 2014 did you see that bit on the news about a group of extremists hacking Barclay’s servers?”

Zayn shook his head. In November he had been busy studying for his midyear exams and had stopped consuming all forms of media to clear more time for cramming all that nonsense he had to learn.

Liam continued on. “A week later a group of para militants attacked the house of Parliament requesting that a new, non-capitalist financial regime be enacted. Parliament refused and the para militants did what they had promised, they attacked London with a virus that corroded all financial information. Credit cards, ATMs, identities – all of it just vanished. The para militants also released toxins killing hundreds of thousands of people in the city.  The military was deployed to fight them but it was too late.” Liam went silent, remembering. “The computer virus spread and other countries’ economies collapsed and the violence escalated. On 3 January 2015, World War 3 was declared. The army has managed to secure parts of the country and we are stationed on the major arterial veins of the freeways to the civilian camps.”

“This is…” Zayn blinked, aware his mouth was hanging loosely open. He gulped down air. “Insanity,” Zayn said. “Pure insanity.”

“This is life in 2018,” Liam said, shrugging. “Not exactly Disneyland.”

“I need to find my family,” Zayn said.  “You can’t keep me here against my will.”

“I’ll send Command a request once the lines are back up,” Liam said, “as for keeping you chained up, I don’t have proof that you really are a civilian and not some car bomb wielding militant apart from your say so and I’m sorry, say so is not good enough.”

“You can’t just-” Zayn paused and lowered his tone. “Let me go.”

“Command will decide, until then sit pretty.” Liam got to his feet and walked out the room, locking it after himself.


	9. Chapter 9

Liam returned to the lookout spot and peered through the rifle into the snowy woods. Still quiet. He got to his feet and heated the now ice-cold coffee in the base's microwave. When he returned to the living room he sat at the table and went through Zayn's stuff again, finding nothing in his things that indicated he was part of the militia. Liam sipped his coffee and picked up Zayn's driver's license.

The picture was flattering, Zayn looking at the camera in an almost disinterested manner, even features set out in a handsome face. Liam hadn't been kidding when he said Zayn should be thankful that it was Liam who had found him. The militants were brutes and if they found out Zayn wasn't one of them he would have been taken to one of their camps where he would have been passed around like a toy.

Liam caressed his thumb across the curve of the Zayn's cheek. Liam's fingers ran over the curve of Zayn’s mouth, despite the grainy photo, Zayn’s lips looked soft and inviting. What would they feel like pressed against his own? He couldn't remember when last he had been kissed. It was before the war, a glimpse of a smiling brunette with warm brown eye flashed before him. He had been told to leave everything he knew behind, that he was a soldier and the army was his new family. But sometimes things in his head got all muddled, and he had trouble remembering. Liam stared at the picture, if Zayn ever kissed him that would be one memory he would never want to lose.

He heated up more rice and beans, dishing out a small portion for himself while heaping the plate for Zayn. He made a cup of black coffee for himself and tea for Zayn then carried the items to Zayn's room where he found Zayn  sitting up on the bed, his bandaged hand cradled against his chest.

"Supper's ready," Liam said. He planted the plate on Zayn's lap.

"You're not going to feed me this time?" Zayn asked, picking up the spoon with his uninjured hand.

"Nah," Liam said. He ate a spoon of rice and beans, watching as Zayn did the same. "I'm trusting that you've had enough adventures for one day."

"You've ditched the Freddy mask." Zayn scooped another mouthful. "It was very terrifying, nice touch." Liam watched Zayn chew and swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the movement. "Any chance you're going to remove this?" Zayn held up his handcuffed hand.

"We wouldn't want you to hit me with a fire log again," Liam said before he ate another spoonful of the rice and beans.

"Speak for yourself." Zayn finished up and handed the empty plate back to Liam. "May I have my tea?” Liam picked the mug and handed it to Zayn, their fingers brushing around the cup. He pulled his hand away and picked his plate from his lap and continued to eat. Zayn finished his tea while Liam sipped his coffee. When the meal was over, Liam picked the tray, heaping the empty plates along with the mugs.

“I need to piss,” Zayn told him, as Liam went to the door.

“I’ll leave this stuff in the kitchen and be back shortly.” Liam closed the door after himself but didn’t lock it. He went to the kitchen, left the items in the sink and returned to the room. He untied the restraints and led Zayn to the bathroom, where he opened the door and he indicated for Zayn to go through. Zayn walked to the toilet, unzipped his pants and urinated. Liam stood at the door, watching. When Zayn was done he washed his hands and dried them before Liam led him back to his room. Liam tied Zayn to the bed, locked the door and left.

#### ***

The blanket felt too thin and no matter how much Zayn huddled into a ball he just couldn’t get warm. His hand still throbbed like something awful and his mind kept racing. He stared at the fire, in the corner of the room as it slowly died down. The room grew chilly and dark, cold air creeping through the crack under the door, making the skin on his arms breakout in goosebumps.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call out to his captor to start the fire. Zayn pulled the blanket tight around himself and curled his body, teeth chattering as he felt the cold seep into his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to think about his favourite summer holidays. There was the one when he was eleven and his dad had driven them to Brighton Beach for the weekend. It had been amazing, everything he imagined a summer holiday was supposed to be; bright blue ocean, long summer days, and every type of ice cream imaginable. He held onto the memory, his lips quivering, trying to imagine he wasn’t in this frigid room.

#### ***

_Day Four – he’s adamant that he has no memory of the last 4 yrs. Apart from the escape attempt he hasn’t tried anything. To be certain that he is not militia, I will increase my surveillance on him._

 

Liam added more wood to his fireplace in the makeshift lookout point and checked his watch again. 10pm. Zayn’s fire would have died by now, yet his detainee still hadn’t called for him. Liam looked out into the woods for any signs of intruders. Nothing. He put his rifled down and got up to make another cup of coffee. He returned with a warm mug nestled in his hands, sitting down in front of the fireplace and waited for Zayn to call out for him.

The call never came.

#### ***

There was a loud bang, Zayn startled awake, frantically sitting up on the bed. _Bang_! There it was again, booming and loud and quick.

It sounded like gunfire.

“Liam?” Zayn called out, keeping his eyes fixed to the door. _Bang, bang, bang_. One after the other like Guy Fawkes Day fireworks. Were they under attack?  Zayn yanked at his arm but the handcuff was as sturdy as ever. He pulled the blanket over himself, shutting his eyes tightly, praying for it all to stop.

#### ***

Liam maintained a proper stance, fully upright on both feet with the rifle supported by his right hand. He zeroed in on his target and pressed his right index finger on the trigger, shooting the last can off the kitchen counter, watching it fall to the floor with satisfaction. Proving, as he knew, his marksmanship was excellent. He heard his detainee call out his name. Liam smiled. _Good_. For a second he thought Zayn would manage to sleep through this and he would have wasted his ammo. But Zayn hadn’t and he was calling for him because he was scared and he thought (correctly) that Liam would protect him.

Liam put his weapon down, and set the timer for 10 minutes. He’d let Zayn marinate for a moment. Oh, the thoughts that had to be running through his mind! Was Liam dead? Were the guerrillas attacking? Was he to be left to die in his ‘prison’?  How long would he last and what would finish him off first – the cold or the lack of food or water? Personally Liam couldn’t imagine a more horrific way to go than slowly starving to death, he’d take hypothermia any day. In the barracks he’d been told that it was just like falling asleep and when the cold had eaten away all the feeling in your lower extremities you didn’t even feel anything.

Zayn would look beautiful frozen. He could see it in his mind’s eye; Zayn’s skin paled by the cold, his lips a frosty red, his eyelids veined blue and green. Liam would press his lips against Zayn’s granting him his warmth and just from his kiss alone Zayn would wake up like Snow White.

8:48 minutes to go. He could hear Zayn trashing around on the bed. He was probably yanking at his restraints, trying to pull free. The sounds grew louder. “Liam!” He heard Zayn call out his name. Liam preened his nails, looking at the dirt etched into the grooves of his cuticles. He needed to shower but hadn’t in the last few days because he didn’t want to risk the paramilitary squads attacking while he was occupied.

6:25 minutes and the sounds ceased, the base became deadly quiet. Liam imagined that Zayn had given up. He was probably laying in the bed awaiting his fate to be dealt out to him. Zayn would be so relieved when Liam walked in and told him that there was nothing to fear, Liam had taken care of things for him.

2:11 minutes. Zayn would be so grateful, he would finally realise that Liam was doing all of this for him. Maybe when Liam entered the room, Zayn would beckon Liam to come closer, he’d pull the blanket off himself and make space on the bed for Liam. Then Zayn would lean close and kiss him, soft and slow on the mouth. Liam picked a knife off the counter and cut a clean line in his side, a deep satisfaction settling inside him as he watched the fabric turn crimson. 

0 minutes. The timer went off. Liam smiled and walked to his detainee’s room.


	10. Chapter 10

Zayn heard the rattle of a key and watched the handle dip, the door opened and in walked Liam. He sat up on the bed, allowing himself to breathe for what felt like the first time since the shooting started.

“I heard gunfire,” Zayn said as Liam stumbled into the room. Liam was holding a palm to his side and his face was pale. “You’re injured. What happened?”

“Fucking guerrillas,” Liam collapsed on the chair beside the bed. “They came through the back, one shot at me a few times but missed. I managed to shoot him but another one stabbed me from behind and then collected his friend and they ran off.”

“Do you think they might come back?’ Zayn asked.

“I followed them out and got two clean shots. They’re dead.” Liam pressed his palm to his side. “Fuck, this hurts.”

“I thought you said you had this place fortified.”

“I thought I did, they must be Black Ops or just super stealth.” Liam leaned back on the chair, closing his eyes. “I told you that you’re better off here with me than out there.”

“You need to dress that wound,” Zayn said, looking at Liam’s blood covered hand.

“Yeah, I will, I had to check on you first,” Liam opened his eyes, “I can’t imagine how scared you must have been, hearing all that gunfire.”

For a few seconds when Zayn had been in the place between being asleep and awake he had thought he was back there in his car, freefalling down that hill to his death. That all of this was in his head, distracting him from his reality. Then he awoke, his ears getting assaulted by the gunfire and everything Liam had told him rushed to the forefront of his mind. The war, the militia, the ceaseless fighting. He had expected the worst when the door opened and it was pathetic how relieved he had been when it was Liam who walked in.

“I was worried, not scared,” Zayn said. “Mostly because I didn’t know what was going on.”

“What was ‘going on’ was me keeping you safe,” Liam said, his brown eyes earnest. “Your wellbeing is important to me.”

“Excuse me if I’m a bit incredulous – you do have me handcuffed, after all.”

“That’s because I’m not sure if I can trust you. Just because you’re not militia doesn’t mean you’re not a member of one of the dozens anti-government rebel groups.”

“I’m not,” Zayn said. But then again, he couldn’t recall the last four years of his life. He didn’t _think_ he was with the militia.

Liam got up slowly, one arm pressed to his bleeding side. “We’ll find out soon enough when Command goes back online.” He left the room, locking the door. Zayn pulled the blanket over himself, huddling into a ball, fighting against the cold.

#### ***

After doing a sweep of the base, Liam sat at his lookout point and tended to his injury. It wasn’t as bad as he had made it out to be, just a nick on his side, but the excessive bleeding had made it look marginally worse to his detainee who had looked so concerned for him. Just like Liam had known he would be. He disinfected the area and covered the wound with gauze before opening a bottle of scotch. He took a gulp, his mind still on his captive in the other room.

#### ***

Zayn lay in bed, shivering as the temperature dropped. The wind was howling outside, the boards on the windows bouncing from the force. He closed his eyes and once again strained his brain, trying to remember the last four years.

#### ***

Liam turned on the water heater and double checked the fortified windows and doors, once he was satisfied he visited his detainee. Zayn was fast asleep, the blanket pulled tightly over himself, snoring quietly. Liam watched the soft rise and fall of Zayn’s chest and stepped closer, looming over his captive and pressed a palm against Zayn’s cheek. His detainee shivered and turned his back to Liam. Liam retreated his hand, watching for another second before leaving the room.

The water was heated when he turned on the taps and he stripped off his clothes and stepped in, tipping his head back, feeling the hot water pelt down on him. Observe Zayn, deliver him to Command, determine if he was militia and send him back to a military prison if he was or to a civilian camp if he wasn’t – that was the plan. That was the soldiery duty he had to enact. He shouldn’t want to keep Zayn here with him, he had no right to have these desires to put his hands all over Zayn and touch every square inch of his skin. But he did. And the thoughts kept running in his mind and he couldn’t make himself stop.

It was Zayn’s fault. He was the one who had catapulted himself into Liam’s life. He was the one who looked so desirable, tied up and defenceless, and he was exacting these thoughts in Liam’s mind. His mere existence seemed to be to test Liam’s will but Liam wasn’t going to fail. He was an identity-less soldier first, an English patron second and a weak, red-blooded man third.

Liam squeezed his eyes tightly shut, reaching for his cock, stroking himself to a quick orgasm, carefully keeping his thoughts blank and away from the beguiling captive he had tied up in a bed just one wooden wall away.


	11. Chapter 11

Liam cooked the oats on the two plate stove in the base’s kitchen. Once they were done he collected some sleeping pills from the Army medic bag and emptied two pills into the mix, he added sugar, made a large mug of tea and carried it to Zayn’s room. He dished out some oats for himself and watched Zayn eat in silence. Once the meal is over he escorted Zayn to the bathroom, set up his bathroom restraints and left him there for his morning shower and to use the bathroom. Once Zayn was done, Liam handcuffed Zayn to the bed and waited for forty minutes to pass, timing them on his wristwatch.

When the timer hit zero, he collected the DIY toolkit from under the kitchen sink and proceeded to his detainee’s room where he found Zayn conked out on the bed. He shook one of Zayn’s slumped shoulders a few times, Zayn didn’t stir. Liam headed to the wall that was adjacent to the door and carefully drilled a hole with a 10mm diameter, something that wouldn’t be noticeable to Zayn inside the room and could easily be covered with a poster on the other side of the wall.

Drilling done, he exited the room and peered through the freshly drilled hole; an unobstructed view of Zayn on the bed. Perfect. In the hallway he covered up the hole with a replica Monet painting he found in the base’s cupboards. He swept away the sawdust on the floor, checked Zayn’s restraints and locked up before heading to the bathroom and drilled a small hole on the wall opposite to the shower from the base kitchen. He could perform surveillance on Zayn when he slept _and_ when he showered.

Done for the day he retreated to his station but instead of keeping watch by the window he laid out his sleeping bag by the fireplace and took a nap. Those sleeping pills were strong, Zayn would be out for a few hours and with the snow storm still raging outside he doubted any militia were on the prowl. He needed a few hours’ worth of rest.

Liam closed his eyes and slept.

#### ***

_Day Four – 13 hundred hours. Surveillance has started. Detainee is still asleep (prone, snoring slightly). Noticed his beard has grown – maybe I should shave him._

#### ***

_Day Five– 15 hundred hours. Detainee has become sullen and withdrawn and isn’t speaking to me._

#### ***

_Day Six – zero seven hours. Detainee called for me, he said he’s tired of being tied to the bed and needs to move around and/or get fresh air. I tied him to the towel rail in the bathroom and allowed him to walk around for 23 minutes. Once he was done, he completed 45 sit-ups and 20 squats._

#### ***

Liam cooked supper for the day – boiled potatoes and canned beef. He dished up for himself and Zayn and carried the plates of food to Zayn’s room and he ate his own meal while watching Zayn.

“What if they’re all dead?” Zayn asked.

“Who?”

“Your commanding officers. What if they’re dead?”

“Then the Army will appoint new Command,” Liam said.

“What if the militia has taken over the Army? What then?”

“That’s highly unlikely, the Army has weapons and sheer numbers on its side.” Liam swallowed down the lumpy potatoes.

“If it has all of that, how come the militants haven’t been combatted successfully?” Zayn asked.

“Because they have divided a portion of the country and keep infiltrating the civilian camps.”

Zayn put down his plate. “Of all the things I imagined growing up, living in a war zone was not one of them. Even a zombie apocalypse would have seemed more probable. Not this.” He glanced at Liam. “You said you joined the Army at sixteen?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I had bad marks in school, my parents couldn’t afford to send me to college and the Army was recruiting,” Liam shrugged. “Why not?”

“Guns, the rigid rules not to mention having to _kill people_ is why not,” Zayn said.

“That’s easy for someone like you to say, you probably had more options.” Liam set the plate down on the bed stand. “If it wasn’t the Army it would have been working a low rent blue collar job at some shitty factory or running with the lads until I ended up in prison. I chose the option that had viable international travel.”

“Sixteen is a bit too young to make a decision like that.”

“I agree. They get us while we’re still green knowing once we’re in we’ll be in for life.” Liam regarded Zayn, watching the thick thatch of beard on Zayn’s cheeks. “Do you want to shave?”

Zayn raised a brow, “Super cautious, Lance Corporal Payne is going to trust me with a sharp instrument?”

“I’ll shave you myself.”

Zayn thought for a moment. “No thanks, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Liam gathered the plates, checked Zayn’s restraints and locked the room when he left. He washed and dried the utensils and did a sweep of the base, checking for any disturbance before he went to the peephole he’d drilled three days ago and continued his surveillance of Zayn.


	12. Chapter 12

Zayn found himself tossing and turning a few times on the bed wondering where Louis and Harry were now. Had they found safety in a civilian camp? Or had they opposed the Army and joined the rebels? He couldn’t imagine sweet, doe eyed Harry living in a time like this. He wasn’t made for war, but for summer days and a good life. He found himself tearing up and started to cry because it wasn’t fair that this had happened. They were supposed to go to Uni, smoke weed, meet new people and live their lives. He cried for Harry and his sisters whose whereabouts he didn’t know, he cried for his mother and father whom he never got to thank for raising him, he cried for a young Liam being sent off to war at the age of sixteen and he cried for himself; stupid, chained up and useless.

#### ***

The next time he woke up his eyes felt swollen and his throat dry. He carefully sat up on the bed, watching the flickering yellow of the fire. He stretched his arms, wincing when his bandaged wrist throbbed from the motion. He didn’t know if it was day or night. Time was starting to be one long blur of waking, remembering his life, eating, trips to the bathroom, sleeping and waking, daydreaming, talking to Liam, eating, trips to the bathroom, and on it went. Time didn’t mean anything now, there were no classes to attend or meetings to rush off to. There was no getting stuck in traffic and dashing off to the store in the evenings to get milk and bread.

There was just him and Liam; the last boy scouts.

“Liam,” Zayn croaked out. He waited but there was no thump of feet. “Liam!” And there it was, heavy footfall, the door opening and Liam peeked his head in.

“Yes?”

“I’m thirsty,” Zayn said.

“I’ll bring you some water,” Liam said.

“Wait,” Zayn said as Liam was about to retreat. “Can you bring me something to read?”

“I’ll see what I can find,” Liam replied before locking the door. He was gone for a few minutes before the door opened up again and there he was, a glass of water and a red hardcover book in his hands. Liam handed Zayn the glass of water and placed the book in his lap. Zayn downed the water before glancing at the cover.

“ _The Wind in the Willows_ ,” Zayn read out.

“That’s the only book I could find,” Liam sat down on the chair beside Zayn. “Oh, that and a bunch of screenplays. The old owners of this place must be film fanatics, they have a bunch of old movie posters stashed in the pantry. Weird.”

“My mum read it to me when I was small,” Zayn flipped the book around, reading the blurb on the cover. “It’s better than nothing, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Liam got to his feet. “Is there anything else you need?” Zayn shook his head.

Liam exited the room.

#### ***

Liam went to his spyhole post on the other side of the wall and looked in on his detainee. Zayn was seated up on the bed, reading. Liam watched him read for a while, loving how Zayn’s eyebrows furrowed and the way his fingers twitched before he flipped a page.

Liam’s surveillance done for the day, he went to the kitchen to see what he could rummage up for lunch.

#### ***

Zayn read four chapters before getting bored with the story. He dog eared where he stopped and set the book aside on the bed. His stomach growled and he wondered when the next meal would be served.

It was more out of boredom than anything else, when he reached his left hand between his legs, squeezing his cock through his trousers.  It felt wrong somehow, he was locked in a cabin in the woods by some overzealous soldier, he had other things to worry about besides getting himself off. But his cock was starting to fatten up and the hand he had on his groin felt good so he eased it into his trousers and started to stroke himself. He normally used his right hand but with that hand’s wrist all fucked up he had to make do with his left. It wasn’t that bad actually, the angle was a bit weird but by thrusting his hips up to his strokes he made the misalignment less noticeable. The bed squeaked when he moved his hips up and down and Zayn paused, worried that Liam would hear. He dropped his hips back onto the bed and moved his hand up and down his cock, wincing at the tell-tale sound and stopping again. He drew in a shuddery breath and stroked himself as quietly as he could until he felt his balls start to tingle and he was shooting into his hand and stifling a moan.

#### ***

Liam had found some canned corn in the pantry and set it on the stove. He returned to his spyhole to check up on Zayn and almost lost his footing when he peered into the room. Zayn was on the bed, handcuff pulled taut by the hand in his trousers as he jerked himself off. His eyes were squeezed tightly, as he lifted his hips up to meet his hand.

Liam pushed off the wall and leaned his back to it, breathing harshly. This couldn’t be happening. He should return to his station in the living room and leave his detainee to masturbate unobserved. He shouldn’t be reaching into his military cargoes and squeezing his cock. And he definitely shouldn’t look into the spyhole again so he could watch Zayn get himself off. But he was. Liam squeezed his hard cock as he watched Zayn stroke himself, he wished that he could actually see Zayn’s dick but watching the way Zayn’s face was contorting in pleasure almost made up for it. He jerked himself as he watched Zayn climax, and two strokes, three strokes he was catapulted off the edge


	13. Chapter 13

_Day Seven– 11 hundred hours. Observed the detainee masturbating._

Liam stared at what he had written. There was no reason for Command to know _that_ because there was the uncomfortable prospect of Command asking what he had been doing when Zayn was jerking off and telling them he’d had his hands shoved down his own pants, rubbing one out, was definitely the wrong answer. He tore out the page and started again.

_Day Seven– 11 hundred hours. The detainee requested some reading material. I provided him with a copy of The Wind in the Willows and he’s been reading it since. I have performed a few routine sweeps around the perimeter of the base and there is no sign that the militants have been around. The radio is still down but I will keep sending out the following signal; I’m Lance Corporal Payne, can anyone hear me?_

 

#### ***

Zayn read a few more chapters of the book before climbing out of bed and stretched. Liam had linked a laptop chain to the bedpost and it provided a way for Zayn to be able to move a metre and half circumference around the bed. He was now able to stretch his legs and walk around whenever he felt like. It was amazing how the simple task of being able to stand felt so glorious. He paced the small space that was between the bed and the far most wall, getting his blood flowing and feeling that familiar twinge for a cigarette telling him that he had never gotten round to quitting. He stood by the far most wall, next to the boarded up window and ran his fingers up and down the coarse wood of the boards.

Four years wasn’t that long a period of time, but everything he thought he knew about the world had been turned upside down in what felt like a blink of an eye. He walked around the small space of his room, trying to shake away the craving for a cigarette.

#### ***

Liam watched Zayn through the spyhole. The book must have gotten boring because Zayn had abandoned it in favour of pacing the room. Zayn wasn’t walking in any particular pattern, heading towards the boarded out window, staring at it for a few minutes before walking back to bed. Sometimes he lingered by the bed, tracing the outline of the aged wooden headboard before picking up the book then putting it down in favour of returning back to the window. Liam watched Zayn stare out of the window, with a gaze so intent it was almost like he really could see outside and not the wood boarding it up.

With his surveillance for that hour done, Liam returned to his look out post where he sat down at the table and went through Zayn’s things again. He picked up the A4 notebook which was titled in a large graffiti-like text “Zayn’s Shit”. On a closer look he saw that the S on ‘Shit’ had a dollar sign making the title actually read “Zayn’s $hit”. Liam opened the notebook and looked through it.

The items that littered the dog eared pages weren’t militia code as he had first thought but doodles. Marvel superheroes, a few self-portraits, pages and pages of random stuff. Some of it was kind of good but then again Liam couldn’t draw to save his own life. He closed the book and went to the next item, the bag of weed and sniffed it - it smelt good. But Command was famous for random drug testing so there was no way he could light up a joint. He put it down and picked up the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out and putting it into his mouth. Maybe this was why Zayn was so fidgety, he needed a smoke.

Liam let the unlit cigarette dangle in his mouth, sucking on it before he pulled it out, watching the brownish-orange filter at the end glisten with his saliva. If Zayn wanted a cigarette why wasn’t he asking Liam for one? It sort of hurt, that Zayn wouldn’t confide something like this when Liam was going out of his way to take such good care of him. He picked up the lighter, stood up and walked to Zayn’s room.

Zayn was still standing by the window, his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced over at Liam, double taking when he saw the cigarette and lighter.

“Is that for me?” Zayn asked before resuming his stare-off with the window.

“Could be,” Liam walked up to him, holding the items out to Zayn. When Zayn reached for the cigarette and lighter, Liam pulled his hand back, keeping them just out of reach. “You have to do something for me before I give you this.”

Zayn dropped his outstretched hand and rolled his eyes, “Bargaining for cigarettes? Really?” Zayn scoffed. Liam waited. Zayn folded his arms and said, “What do you want?”

“Kiss me,” Liam said.

Zayn raised an incredulous brow, “What?”

Liam stepped closer, “One kiss equals one cigarette - it’s a simple exchange.”

Zayn stepped back, folding his arms as he regarded Liam, his eyes dropping to the hand that was holding the cigarette and lighter. “No.”

“Fine.” Liam went to the chair, spun it around so it faced Zayn, sat down and lit the cigarette, tilting his head back and inhaling deep. “These are menthol flavoured. Very aromatic.” He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into the air and looked through it at Zayn who was still stationed by the window, arms folded stubbornly. “Wouldn’t want you to enjoy the second hand smoke too much so I’ll be off.”

Liam sucked on the cigarette, got to his feet and left the room.

#### ***

Zayn felt all the bravado immediately drain from him as he watched the door close. He ran his left hand through his hair, his head spinning as a million thoughts raced through it. _What. The. Fuck?_

Liam, a Lance Corporal and a member of the Army had tried to trade a kiss for a cigarette? What was going on here? That wasn’t normal. This wasn’t prison. Not to mention those cigarettes were Zayn’s to begin with and the kindly, normal not weird thing for Liam to do would be to hand them over. Zayn backtracked, running the events of the past few days in his mind. Up until the moment when he realised Liam wasn’t kidding about wanting Zayn to kiss him, Zayn hadn’t gotten a vibe that Liam was attracted to him. Sure he’d been attentive and he always showed up when Zayn called for him but throughout Zayn had thought that Liam was just carrying out his duties and he hadn’t read anything to it. But there was no mistaking that look in Liam’s eyes when he’d been standing close to him, his eyes heavy lidded and sultry; desire. Liam wanted him.

Maybe this was his key out of this fucking place, because if there was one thing Zayn was good at, it was using his looks to his advantage.


	14. Chapter 14

Liam enjoyed the rest of the cigarette at his lookout station. He was seated in front of the coffee table, resting his feet on its aged surface. His cargoes were unbuttoned and he had his right hand shoved in them as he idly stroked his cock, occasionally using his left hand to tap away the ash from the cigarette into his coffee mug. His mind was on Zayn and how he had looked when Liam had asked for a kiss, those eyebrows rising up, and his eyes widening ever so slightly. Zayn had definitely been surprised before collecting himself, folding his arms, and stepping back like Liam was about to jump him.

Zayn had considered it though; Liam had seen him, that split second when his eyes had dropped to Liam’s lips before flittering away. He’d thought about kissing Liam, but his desire for nicotine hadn’t reached a point where he was willing to trade himself for it.  He wondered if Zayn had been with men before. Liam hadn’t. He liked girls, but that was before the Army and the war. Now he found the angular shape of Zayn’s body, the wisps of hair on his upper lip, the sinewy thighs, and the cock that hung between Zayn’s legs arousing. He couldn’t call to mind why he wouldn’t have considered another man hot before –because Zayn was insanely attractive and was probably the best-looking person he’d ever laid his eyes on.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything else left for them to do to pass the time until Command radioed back. Liam worked his hand up and down his cock, imagining what it would be like to have Zayn’s lips, first on his own, then on his cock. In no time he was spurting and coming onto his closed fist, ash falling from the cigarette in his mouth onto the front of his jacket. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and put it into his coffee mug, still breathing harshly from his orgasm.

#### ***

Liam prepared breakfast for Zayn; steel cut oats. They were out of milk so he drizzled some honey on the oats before sprinkling three heaping teaspoons of soft, brown sugar on top. He made a bowl for himself, no honey or sugar, and balanced the two bowls on a tray along with two mugs of black tea (they were also out of coffee) to Zayn’s room. He found Zayn sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, reading _The Wind in the Willows._

“I figured you’d be hungry by now,” Liam said as way of explanation as he set the tray on the bed stand. Zayn closed the book and got to his feet slowly.

“I’m _starving_ ,” Zayn said. There was something in the way Zayn said it, something in the smoky low cadence of his voice that made Liam glance up and do a double take.  Zayn’s lips were parted and wet like he had just licked them, but it was the look in his eyes that definitely held Liam’s attention. Liam sank onto the chair, still holding Zayn’s gaze. He wasn’t imagining this - Zayn definitely had a slutty look in his eyes. Zayn got onto the bed and reached across Liam’s lap, taking the bowl of oats.  He took a large spoonful (did he always open his mouth that wide?) before closing his eyes in what looked like orgasmic bliss.

“This is really delicious,” Zayn practically moaned out.

Liam took a bite of his own oats. “Thanks,” he said stoically.

“I can’t say I have any complaints about the food,” Zayn said as he opened his eyes, peering at Liam under his thick lashes. Liam had had it. He slammed his own cereal bowl back onto the tray where it made a loud _thunk_.

“Fucking cut it out,” Liam said.

“Cut what out?” Zayn asked.

“This,” Liam indicated at Zayn’s direction, “flirting or whatever it is you’re trying to do. It’s an act and I’m not buying it, so please save us both the embarrassment and just stop.”

“I thought with you asking for the kiss that—”

“That I what? Want you to act like a cheap whore?” Liam said, his voice beginning to rise.

“That you wanted to fuck me!” Zayn shouted and Liam stilled before picking up his bowl of cereal, keeping his expression neutral.

“Finish your fucking food,” Liam said in between mouthfuls.

 Zayn silently picked up his spoon and ate his oats.

#### ***

Zayn’s face was still burning when Liam cleared the empty bowls and cups. He wasn’t good at flirting because he’d never had a reason to before. All his life, people had given him the benefit of doubt, because they liked how he looked. Teachers, when he didn’t do his homework. Waitresses, when he told them he forgot his wallet at home. Bank tellers, that let him access his account without his ID. When he’d tried to envision how to seduce Liam long enough to extract the keys from his person, he hadn’t had the foggiest idea, so he’d gone with what he saw on the telly, figuring Liam would fall for it.

It was a bit of a surprise that Liam hadn’t. Maybe the beard he was growing obscured some of his face and the full force of his attractiveness wasn’t hitting Liam fully. Or maybe he’d misread the entire situation and Liam hadn’t wanted to kiss him because he found him hot, which sort of stung because that was his thing. He was the hot guy that girls gaped at, fumbling to think of things to say. His friends back in high school had marvelled at the mystery of the fairer sex. He’d shake his head and say girls were simple –he’d say a few nice things to them, pretend to listen when they talked, and they would fancy him back. They’d looked at him as if he was talking shit. He never got it until he started dating in Year 8 and his then girlfriend said that she could never stay mad at him for forgetting to call her because he was just so cute. He realised what distinguished from his mates and from then onwards worked at keeping himself as attractive as possible. Uni started and he remained as popular with girls, building a long list of sexual conquests, always with girls, never guys, which brought him to the flip side of things; if Liam had responded favourably to his overtures, then what?

 Zayn didn’t consider himself gay. He’d let a few guys buy him drinks at the club and he’d even danced with one or two, but it had never gone further than that. He wasn’t sure how he’d respond when Liam kissed him. Surely it couldn’t be any different from kissing a girl; lips were lips.

He imagined it, kissing Liam. The image wasn’t unappealing. And what about the rest? Liam was a man - he didn’t have breasts for Zayn to squeeze and fondle, so where would they go next? And the actual mechanics? Zayn had fucked his last girlfriend up the arse once just to try it out. She’d hated it and they never did it again. If they had full-out sex, Liam would probably want to do that to him, and he’d never had anything bigger than his girlfriend’s finger up his arse.

So much for his plan for seducing Liam, getting the room keys, and then escaping. So much for his fucking freedom.


	15. Chapter 15

Liam washed the cups and bowls, leaving them on the rack by the sink to dry off. He went to the living room and pushed the table and chairs aside, opening an area of space. He pulled off his army jacket and shirt until he wore only his vest, cargoes, and combat boots. He dropped to the floor and began to do press-ups, counting out each one like there was a sergeant drilling him. He did fifty and when his hard-on still hadn’t wilted, he did another fifty. He was barely able to push his chest away from the floor on the last one and his arms ached as breaths were torn from his throat.

“One hundred,” he gasped out and rolled onto his back to look up at the wooden log ceiling. Zayn shouldn’t have teased him like that. Liam could hold it together on a good day, but there was no telling what he would do if the tightly-wound chain he had around himself broke loose. Zayn didn’t know that Liam could be an animal when he wanted to be. There was something in the thin expanse of Zayn’s frame that made Liam want to pound into him. To fuck him long and hard, leave him shaking on that bed. Zayn didn’t know the hunger he was waking in Liam. It was like a tide, trying to break the levies, and every passing day the levies lost their strength and the tide grew stronger.

#### ***

After completing a few more press-ups, Liam took a long shower. He placed one palm against the ceramic tiles and jerked himself off quickly and efficiently as he could while he fantasised about fucking Zayn. It was an image of being on top of Zayn, holding his hand over Zayn’s mouth to keep him silent while drilling his cock in and out of him that made Liam gasp and climax, his come hitting the wall tiles in thick, white streaks. He stayed in the shower until the hot water began to run cold before stepping out. He didn’t turn off the water heater because he figured that Zayn would probably want to shower sometime today as well.

He checked on Zayn through the spyhole and found him on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the book on his chest. Liam retreated to the living room and looked through the telescope out into the snow-lined woods. No sign of life out there. He picked up the radio and did his afternoon search for a signal before leaving a message: “I’m Lance Corporal Liam Payne. Can anyone hear me?”

#### ***

He went through Zayn’s things again, bringing the bottle of cologne to his nostrils and inhaling. He put it down and picked up _Zayn’s $hit_. He looked through the sketches and doodles, recognising the recurring characters. One boy who liked to wear panama hats and long chains. Another who had big, wide eyes and wore chinos a lot. He wondered who they were. They must be people Zayn knew in his other life. He snapped the cover shut and threw the book on the desk. Why shouldn’t he take what he wanted from Zayn before the outside world barged in to restore things to their natural balance? He shouldn’t have to beg for Zayn’s kisses. Zayn was his captive, his detainee - _Zayn was his_ for him to do whatever he pleased.


	16. Chapter 16

Zayn read a few more chapters of the book before setting it aside to sit on the chair by his bed, his feet on the bed and his head tilted on the back of the chair. He was really fucking tired of the view of the ceiling; row after row of drab, brown logs. He closed his eyes instead, retreating to his favourite activity these past few days; remembering. He thought of his parents and the last time he remembered seeing them; it felt like just the other day. He’d come down from Uni for the Winter Break and his dad had been on his way out when Zayn pulled up the driveway. They’d chatted for a few minutes and he couldn’t even remember what they had been discussing; probably the course he was studying and what viable job options he had after Uni. His dad worried that he wouldn’t find employment with a Bachelor of Arts degree, not with the economy being what it was. He’d watched his dad drive away before going inside to see his mum and she’d been in the kitchen preparing supper. She’d wanted him to stay and eat with them, but he’d been eager to go see his mates. He stayed out the entire night and came back in the wee hours of the morning before throwing a bag together to go see Louis and Harry at the festival. And then he was waking up here.

 He should have stayed for supper. He should have called his mum more often because he missed her when he was away. He should have talked to his dad, really talked, and not the idle chit chat they did. He should have done a lot of things, but now he had no idea where they were and if he would ever see them again.

#### ***

Zayn called out for Liam a few hours after breakfast. At least, it felt like a couple of hours – he was having difficulty keeping track of time. Liam opened the door and stepped in.

“I need to shower,” Zayn said. Liam walked across the room and unlocked the handcuff from Zayn’s left wrist. Zayn rubbed at the red skin on his wrist, wincing slightly as he got to his feet. When they got to the bathroom, Liam raised the handcuffs, ready to lock them onto the link chain. “Please don’t,” Zayn said.

“I have to follow protocol,” Liam said.

“I promise I won’t try anything.” Zayn rubbed his wrist again. “I just need a break from being tied up.”

Liam dropped his hands. “I’ll have to watch you.”

Zayn pulled off his T-shirt. “Do what you have to do.”

 He dropped the T-shirt on the floor and unzipped his trousers, pushing them off his hips before stepping out of them. His pants were next and he pulled them off, adding them to the pile of clothes on the floor. He stepped into the shower and twisted the faucet until the water was pleasantly warm. He rubbed himself down with a dampened bar of soap and tipped his head back, letting the water wash over him. He raised a hand to run over his face and he remembered he needed to shave. He rinsed off and switched off the water before reaching for a towel. Liam was standing by the open door, one nonchalant foot planted on the wall as he watched Zayn.

“I need a shave,” Zayn said as he stepped out of the shower, towelling his hair off.

“Protocol says I can’t hand you anything that can be used to inflict bodily harm on my person,” Liam said.

 “Didn’t you say you would shave me?” Zayn wrapped the towel around his waist.

“You gonna trust me with a sharp object close to your throat?” Liam pushed off the wall.

“Your hands seem sturdy to me,” Zayn said. Liam nodded and indicated that Zayn hold out his hand. When Zayn did, he clicked the handcuffs in place and locked Zayn to the link chain.

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,” Liam said.

#### ***

Liam collected his toiletry bag from his station before returning to the bathroom. Zayn was standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, brushing the surface clean with a free hand. He turned to the door when he heard Liam walk in.

“Face me,” Liam said as he planted the bag on the counter next to the sink. Zayn turned around and Liam stepped in front of him, reaching out a hand to lift Zayn’s chin. “You want a clean shave?”

“Yes,” Zayn said.

“Okay.” Liam let go of Zayn’s chin and reached in the bag. He pulled out an aerosol can of shaving cream and a Gillette shaving blade. He lathered a generous amount of cream on his hand before he patted it onto Zayn’s cheeks and chin. Zayn closed his eyes and Liam allowed himself to examine Zayn’s face in a way that he couldn’t do when Zayn was looking back at him.

 Zayn was truly stunning - high cheekbones, long fluttering lashes, perfect nose. Liam ran his fingers along Zayn’s jaw, feeling the shape of the bone underneath, and he distributed some cream under Zayn’s chin. He reached for the shaving blade and placed it under Zayn’s chin, watching as Zayn’s Adam apple bobbed nervously. Liam paused for a moment, his breath getting trapped in his throat. He pressed the blade harder into Zayn’s skin until Zayn’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at him. It would be easy, just a jerk of his hand, and he would cut into Zayn’s carotid artery. The dark eyes that stared out at him seemed to plead and dare him at the same time. _Show us what you’re made of, Payne._ Liam ran the blade down smoothly and repeated the process on Zayn’s cheeks and chin until Zayn was cleanly shaved.

“All done. Rinse off,” Liam said as he stepped back, shaking the blade clean, and then he put the blade and cream into the bag.

Zayn turned around, presenting Liam with a view of the delicate knobby network of his spinal cord. There was a tattoo of a bird’s feathered tail on the nape of his neck that Liam didn’t recall having seen before and when Zayn rose from the washbasin, Liam stepped in close and placed a kiss to nape of Zayn’s neck, right on the tattoo.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asked.

“Not kissing you on the lips.” Liam licked up Zayn’s nape before reaching a hand around Zayn’s waist, placing it on the front of the towel, rubbing between Zayn’s legs. Zayn pushed his hand away, sidestepped him, and turned around.

“I don’t-” Zayn said.

“I recall a certain incident when you were all over me,” Liam said, watching Zayn cross his arms. “I’m just giving you what you clearly want.”

“I was trying to – it doesn’t matter. Leave me alone,” Zayn said.

Liam felt a wave of anger overcome him. He didn’t remember when it was last he had been touched. Before he found Zayn, he’d been with his platoon at another base and there he’d been in the barracks during the day and out on patrol at night. No warmth of another person’s body next to his, no kissing. He hadn’t known how starved he was for touch until he’d asked Zayn to kiss him. Zayn shouldn’t be refusing him. Liam pulled out the key to the handcuffs and unlocked them before pulling Zayn along to the door.

“Wait,” Zayn said, resisting. “My clothes-”

“You won’t need them.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters are dubcon heavy and Liam will be engaging in sexual activities with Zayn, initially without Zayn’s expressed consent then with coerced consent.

Zayn grabbed the door frame, digging his heels into the floor resisting Liam’s tugs but Liam easily unwrapped his fingers from the frame, threw him over his shoulders in a fireman hold, and carried him to the bedroom.

“Let me go!” Zayn scratched at Liam’s back, but that didn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. The sense of alarm turned into wild panic when Zayn felt himself being carried into the bedroom and thrown onto the bed. He scrambled off and ran to the door, only to be stopped by two strong hands that landed on his waist and kept him still. He was lifted off his feet from behind and this time, when Liam planted him on the bed, he climbed on top of Zayn, straddling him then handcuffing his right hand to the bed post. Zayn thrashed about, trying to get Liam off him.

“Stop moving.” Liam pinned Zayn’s other hand down onto the bed. Zayn bucked his hips up, but the only thing he was managing to get free was the towel on his waist.  Liam reached out a hand and wrapped it around Zayn’s throat, leaning down to speak directly into his face like Zayn was an errant child. “I said, stop moving.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn spat out. Liam let go of Zayn’s throat, pulled the towel out from under Zayn, and threw it aside. He spread Zayn’s thighs and knelt between them. When he reached down to the zipper of his cargoes Zayn struggled, squirming up the bed. Liam yanked him back down. Zayn tried to knee Liam in the groin. Liam stopped unzipping and pressed his hand down on Zayn’s chest.

“I’m going to ask you one last time to stop moving,” Liam said sternly. Zayn stilled and closed his eyes. He heard the sound of a zipper being dragged down. The mattress dipped. Dry static of clothes. Open mouthed breathing. Harsh. Animalistic. Hands gripped his hips and he was yanked further down the bed. The hands roamed over him, brushing against his stomach and his dick before settling on his inner thighs.

Zayn was yanked further down the bed. His thighs were pushed apart until they brushed against Liam’s. He felt the wet press of Liam’s erection against his skin and he tried not to recoil when Liam rubbed up against him.

“God, Zayn, you’re so…” Liam trailed off, choosing to thrust against Zayn instead. Zayn didn’t respond and waited to get raped because this was where this was going. He just hoped it would be quick.

He felt Liam settle his body on his until they were chest to chest, groin to groin, and he kept still. Liam’s face was hovering over his and he could feel his hot breath ghost over him. A hand covered his chin and fingers pressed onto his lips. “Open your mouth.” Zayn opened his mouth and fingers traced alongside the inside of his cheek before the pad of an index finger pressed down on his tongue. “Suck on my fingers.” Zayn sucked down on Liam’s fingers and he felt Liam resuming to ground down against him. The fingers retreated and Liam was getting up, his cock rubbing wetly against Zayn’s inner thighs. Liam trapped his hard cock between Zayn’s thighs before pushing in and out of them. Zayn felt his own dick begin to stir in interest, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip and his fingers curled into tight fists.  He didn’t want to respond to this but with each thrust, Liam’s cock brushed against his own, it felt hot and slick and dizzying.  Zayn tried to pry his thighs apart, but the grip Liam had on them was vice-like and Liam tightened his hold on Zayn’s thighs, blunt fingernails digging into Zayn’s skin.

“You like me fucking your thighs?” Liam asked. Zayn shook his head. “Your hard-on says otherwise.” Zayn flushed and tried to move up the bed. Liam let Zayn’s thighs go and pulled away. Startled, Zayn opened his eyes. Liam was kneeling on the bed, hard cock jutting out in front of him, a dark expression on his face. He got up and reached for his cargoes on the floor, pulling out the handcuff keys from one of the pockets. “I warned you to stop moving.”

“What are you doing?” Zayn asked when Liam unlocked the handcuffs.

“Making sure you behave.” Liam removed the handcuffs and flipped Zayn over onto his stomach before locking Zayn’s left hand onto the bedpost. When he walked away, Zayn scrambled onto his knees and tried to pull his hand free. He heard footfall and he looked over his shoulder, Liam was returning with another pair of handcuffs.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Zayn spat. Liam dragged him by the right leg down on the bed, locking Zayn’s right ankle to the bottom bed post. The bed springs creaked from Liam shifting his weight around and he settled back on top of Zayn, rubbing his cock against Zayn’s arse.

“Relax,” Liam said, pressing a finger into Zayn.

“Don’t do this,” Zayn pleaded.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Liam said, his finger retreating. “So relax.” Liam lined his cock between Zayn’s arse cheeks and began to rub against him. Zayn closed his eyes, which made things much worse, because without his sight, Liam’s presence engulfed him. Liam’s scent in Zayn’s nostrils, the taste of him that lingered on his tongue. The helpless grunts that escaped Liam’s mouth, Liam’s warm hands on him. Liam seemed to be everywhere at once.

 Zayn ignored his own throbbing dick and let his body go lapse, not allowing himself to think anymore, letting the tide carry him where it would. Liam patted his arse approvingly.

“Yeah, just like that.” Liam said, increasing the pace of his thrusts. The slick sound of Liam’s dick sliding between his arse cheeks filling the room. Liam thrust a few more times, gave a deep moan and pulled away and then warm jets of come spurted all over Zayn’s arse. Zayn felt a clammy, damp hand settle on his left arse cheek. “Now isn’t that a sight for sore eyes?” he heard Liam say while rubbing his come into Zayn’s skin.

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Zayn whispered. The hand patted his arse in a manner one could almost describe as being fond.

“I wish I could,” Liam said. The bed springs creaked and Liam got up. He unlocked the handcuff on Zayn’s right hand and went to the bottom of the bed to unlock the handcuff on Zayn’s right foot. “Turn around.”

“Fuck off,” Zayn spat.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” Liam forcefully turned Zayn around, his eyes immediately dropping down to Zayn’s crotch. Zayn squirmed and brought down both hands to cover his erection. Liam yanked Zayn’s hands away and stretched out his left arm, handcuffing it to the bedpost, then doing the same to Zayn’s right arm. Zayn raised his knees, but Liam pulled them down. He sat on the bed and leaned down, his face hovering over Zayn’s crotch. When Zayn wriggled away Liam got up. “I guess this means you want your legs to be tied down.”

Liam left the room and returned with the ropes. He spread Zayn’s legs wide and tied each foot to the bottom bed post before getting back onto the bed. He immediately sunk down on Zayn’s cock, drawing him into his mouth. Zayn curled his toes and gritted his teeth, trying not to enjoy the slow drag of Liam’s mouth on his cock. Liam pulled away, hovering over Zayn’s cock, blowing hot air over the rigid length before sliding back down on it. He went deeper, hands descending down to stroke the base. Liam pulled away.

“Look at this stiff, pretty dick,” Liam said. He stroked his hand up and down Zayn’s cock slowly. “Hey Zayn, what’s the longest period of time you’ve been hard without coming?” Liam asked conversationally. Zayn kept silent. Liam settled his mouth onto Zayn’s dick, sucking just on the head, running his tongue over it before retreating. “I think it would be fun to find out.”

Liam got to his feet, zipped up his cargoes, and walked out the room, locking the door behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

Liam went to the living room and lit up one of Zayn’s cigarettes before he sat down on the sofa, settling his feet on the table. He shouldn’t have started up with Zayn, but he couldn’t help himself. Not after that shit Zayn had pulled yesterday. It wasn’t all bad; he hadn’t shoved his cock into him despite more than wanting to. He dragged on the cigarette, letting the nicotine fill his lungs.

There was a moment when he had flipped Zayn over, had seen the swell of his arse cheeks, and he’d been overcome when the overwhelming urge to sink his cock deep into him. He’d pressed his finger against Zayn, but then Zayn had made a sound, different from the fake pleas he’d been making earlier. Zayn had sounded genuinely scared and Liam couldn’t do it, so he’d settled for rubbing up between his arse cheeks instead.

He finished the cigarette, butting it out in his coffee mug. He went to use the bathroom and while in there he saw the state they had left it earlier. He decided to clean it, first the shower, then scrubbing the wall tiles and wiping down the faucets. He ran the water in the wash basin and rinsed it out. The toiletry bag was returned to the living room and he mopped the wet floor.

Eventually he became curious as to whether Zayn was still hard and he went to the spyhole and looked in; Zayn’s dick was still up, pointing a rigid line up to the ceiling. Liam kept watch of Zayn through the peephole and when he saw Zayn’s cock begin to soften, he unlocked the room and walked in, lowering his mouth onto Zayn’s cock, sucking as hard as he could, and brought him to rock-hardness within a few minutes. He slowly pulled off, licking up and down the velvet shaft, and on the bead of pre-come pearling the tip.

“I think I’m going to sit here and jerk off because sucking on your cock is getting me hard again.” Liam unzipped his cargoes and slid his hands into them, tugging on his cock.  Zayn opened his eyes and looked at Liam through his lashes. Liam spat onto his own right palm and returned it to his own cock. “This does feel as good as it looks.” Zayn turned his chin away, but the twitch of his cock on his stomach betrayed him. Liam jacked himself until he was climaxing, stroking himself through it.

He brought his come-slicked hand and wrapped it around Zayn’s erection, smiling to himself when he heard Zayn whimper at the contact. Liam worked his hand up and down the rigid flesh before getting onto the bed and leaning down to lick his come off Zayn’s cock, pulling away when Zayn’s hips thrust up.

“I didn’t say you could fuck my mouth.” Liam licked Zayn’s dick clean of his come before getting to his feet and zipping up his cargoes. “You should have just agreed to kiss me,” he said and walked out the door, locking it after himself.

#### ***

Zayn brought to mind the most disgusting things he could think of - rotting corpses, his grandparents having sex, but nothing seemed to be dousing the torrid arousal running through his body. Each time those lips came down on Zayn’s cock, it was getting difficult not to thrust into the warm, enveloping mouth, but no matter how good it felt when Liam sucked on his dick, he had to remember that he had said no, that he didn’t want this.

But it was getting difficult to recall _why_ he didn’t.

#### ***

Whistling an old Beatles tune under his breath, Liam went to the kitchen to check what he and Zayn would have for dinner. The supplies were almost depleted: three stale potatoes, a handful of oats, half a cup of white rice, some dried up red beans, and a third of a cup of sugar. He put the rice and red beans into separate pots and filled the pots with water before placing them onto the stove.

He checked up on Zayn through his spyhole. His detainee was writhing pitifully on the bed, his red, stiff cock bobbing on his stomach. Why couldn’t Zayn just admit that he needed him and allow Liam to take care of him?  Liam pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. He went to the fireplace, adding more wood to the fire. After all, he didn’t want Zayn to catch a cold. When he was done, he leaned over the bed, gripped Zayn’s cock, and stroked him.

“Do you want my hand or my mouth?” Liam asked. He stilled his hand and waited. Zayn turned to look at him, a fevered look in his dark eyes. Liam moved his hand up and down, jerking Zayn off slowly, and said once more, “My hand or my mouth?”

“Your mouth,” Zayn moaned. Liam continued to stroke Zayn as he got onto the bed, drawing Zayn’s dick into his mouth, sucking on him. He pulled away and Zayn thrust his hips up, trying to follow Liam’s mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’m not stopping.” Liam untied Zayn’s feet and got onto the bed, hooking Zayn’s legs over his shoulder. He leaned down and breathed over Zayn’s cock. “You know I’ll take good care of you, right?” He sucked on the head before drawing Zayn’s cock slowly into his mouth, lifting Zayn’s hips off the bed as he sucked him off slowly. Zayn began to buck his hips up, thrusting into Liam’s mouth, and Liam opened up his throat for him, gripping Zayn’s hips tightly, stilling him as he sucked on him again before pulling off Zayn’s cock. “Do you still want me to leave you alone?”

Zayn shook his flushed face. _No._

Liam licked up his cock and said, “Are you sure? You certainly sounded adamant about that earlier.”  He licked away the bead of pre-come on the tip of Zayn’s cock.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” Zayn said throatily.

“Then what do you want?” Liam stroked Zayn’s cock from the base to tip and corkscrewed his hands back down, eliciting a breathy moan from Zayn.

Zayn squeezed his eyes tightly shut and said, “I want you to suck me until I come.”

Liam closed his mouth over Zayn’s cock and did exactly that.

 


	19. Chapter 19

_Day Ten– 18 hundred hours, 15 minutes. Food rations are running low. The snow storm seems to be clearing so hopefully the radio will be working soon. In regards to the Detainee - nothing new to report._

#### ***

The next day, Zayn tried not to think of what they had done, but with nothing else to focus on, he kept remembering how eager he’d become to work his cock into Liam’s mouth, and how Liam had sucked him down, swallowing when Zayn came in his mouth, making him feel good. Afterwards, he’d continued to suckle on Zayn’s cock as he had softened, hands stroking Zayn’s thighs, and it felt nice to the point that Zayn hadn’t wanted him to stop.  Liam had freed his hands and allowed him to dress before he tied Zayn’s left hand, using the link chain so that Zayn could be able to move around the room and stretch his legs. Before Liam had left to prepare supper, he stood before Zayn, an unreadable expression on his face. For a second, Zayn thought Liam would kiss him, but the moment passed and Liam was walking out, locking the door as usual.

Zayn paced the room in the small space allowed by his link chain, only stopping when the door opened and Liam walked in with a tray with two plates of food.  Zayn went to sit on the bed and Liam sat on the chair, setting the tray down and handing Zayn a plate.

“Sorry it’s not much - our food supplies are running low,” Liam said.

“It’s better than nothing.” Zayn took a spoonful of the tasteless food, glancing over at Liam as he ate.

“If you want to ask me something then ask instead of giving me Bambi eyes,” Liam said.

 “You’ve been with guys before?”

“No.”

“But that blowjob you gave me was-”

“Insanely good?” Liam provided.

“Skilled would be the word I’d use.”

“I just did what I enjoy when I get sucked off.” Liam picked up a spoon of food. “If you want pointers, I can give you some.”

“No, thanks.”

Liam put his spoon down. “You might need them when you return the favour.”

Zayn paused, “You expect me to -”

“You certainly have the lips for it.” Liam chewed on his food and swallowed. “I’ll try not to bruise them up too much when I’m fucking your mouth.” Zayn frowned slightly and resumed eating, aware that Liam was studying him. Liam set down his food and took Zayn’s plate, setting it on the night stand. “Zayn, tell me what we did yesterday.”

“You gave me a blowjob,” Zayn said, darting his eyes away from Liam.

Liam nodded. “And before that?”

“You, um, I mean, we…” Zayn felt himself colour as he tried to answer.

“Let me ask you another question: did you like it?”

“I didn’t want any of it,” Zayn said, crossing his arms.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“You already know the answer.”

“I want to hear it from you.” Liam sat back on his chair and waited. “We do have the whole day to do this if that’s what you want.”

Zayn sighed and said, “I liked it.”

“Say you want to suck my cock.”

“Really?” Zayn asked incredulously. Liam nodded. “I want to suck your cock.”

Liam shook his head. “Come on, convince me.”

Zayn looked at him. “Liam, I want to suck your cock,” Zayn said, making his voice sound more engaged. Liam was still shaking his head.

“I don’t know, Zayn. I’m just not feeling it.”

Zayn sat up on the bed and leaned over, “Liam,” Zayn breathed, licking his lips, “I want to suck on your cock until you come down my throat.”

Liam looked him straight in the eye as he reached for the zip of his cargoes. “Do it.”

_Oh, fuck._

#### ***

Liam unzipped his cargoes and waited. Zayn’s eyes were wide as he stared at Liam’s dick. Liam stroked himself to full hardness and said, “Any time now.”

Zayn got off the bed, pulling the handcuffs and link chain with him as he sunk down on his knees in front of Liam. Liam spread his thighs to make room for Zayn and held out his cock to Zayn’s mouth.

“Open up,” Liam said, tapping his cock against Zayn’s lips. Zayn parted his lips, stuck out his tongue, and slowly licked up Liam’s dick. “Yeah, just like that.”

Liam watched Zayn close his eyes as he drew the head of Liam’s dick into his mouth. Liam reached for Zayn’s handcuffed left hand and placed it on the base of his dick, covering it with his own, and guided it up and down. When Zayn had gotten a rhythm going, Liam let go of his hand and placed it on Zayn’s head, running his fingers through Zayn’s hair.

Zayn’s movements were hesitant and clumsy, and he made the most choked, breathy noises when Liam thrust into his mouth which made the entire thing even hotter. If Zayn kept this up Liam was going to come too soon. Liam moved back, pulling his dick out of Zayn’s mouth. Zayn opened his eyes and looked up at Liam questioningly. Liam wiped some of the saliva from Zayn’s mouth before pressing a thumb onto Zayn’s plump lower lip.

“Those lips certainly look like they were made for sucking my dick,” Liam said, stroking Zayn’s lower lip. He eased his thumb into Zayn’s mouth, pressing down on Zayn’s tongue when Zayn began to suck on it. Liam pushed his left thumb in and out of Zayn’s mouth, enjoying the suction. He dropped his free hand down onto his own cock, stroking it. “Pull out your cock and jerk yourself off,” Liam said.

Zayn unzipped his trousers and pulled out his dick. Liam looked down at it. Zayn was hard. Liam withdrew his thumb from Zayn’s mouth, rubbing Zayn’s saliva onto his lips until they were wet and shiny.

“Do you like my dick?” Liam asked, moving his hand from Zayn’s lips to hold up his chin.

“Yes,” Zayn said, his hands stroking his own dick.

“What do you like about it?” Liam asked. Zayn shifted on his knees, but Liam kept his grip on his chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger. Zayn blinked, dark lashes fluttering down sexily.

“I like how it looks.”

“Go on.”

“I like the veins running down it,” Zayn swallowed and shifted again. “I like how big it is.” Liam removed his hand from his own cock and he leaned down, placing it over Zayn’s cock so that they were three hands moving up and down the rigid flesh. He gripped his fingers hard over Zayn’s hands, making Zayn gasp. “I like how it tastes in my mouth.”

Liam let go of Zayn’s cock and returned his hand onto his own. When he angled his hips up, he didn’t need to ask, because Zayn immediately closed his mouth over Liam’s dick, sucking. Liam thrust his hips up, careful not to go too deep, enjoying the enveloping, wet heat of Zayn’s mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes off Zayn’s hollowed out cheek bones and his pink lips stretched on his cock. Zayn opened his eyes and looked at him and then Liam was coming hard, shooting into his mouth, thrusting his cock in and out Zayn’s mouth, some of his come dribbling out. Once his orgasm subsided, he withdrew his cock and wiped Zayn’s mouth and chin. Zayn sat down on his heels, his eyes still on Liam, his hand slapping wetly on his cock as he masturbated.

“Do you want me to help you out with that?” Liam asked.

Zayn shook his head. Liam kept his cock out and stroked it lazily. Zayn’s face was flushed and he tugged at his own cock in rapid successions as he looked at Liam, Zayn’s eyes moving from Liam’s face to Liam’s dick.

“You look really sexy,” Liam said. Zayn worked his hands up and down his cock, tongue coming out to lick his lips, hips thrusting. “You know what you look like right now?”  Liam asked. Zayn shook his head. “Like a pretty boy who needs to get fucked.”

Zayn came.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The archive warning for dub-con strongly applies in this Chapter and the one that follows.

Zayn didn’t know what he expected after he recovered from his orgasm, but it wasn’t for Liam to clean him, help him onto the bed, and hand him his food. Zayn cleared off his plate and when he was done, Liam took it and his own, leaving the room. When he returned he simply switched the lights off, got onto the bed behind Zayn, put an arm over Zayn’s waist, pulled him close, and promptly passed out, leaving Zayn to stare into space, his heart thudding.

It was ages before he fell asleep.

#### ***

When Zayn woke up a few hours later, the fire had died. He would’ve been cold if it weren’t for the warmth of Liam’s body next to him. Zayn turned over, watching Liam in the semi-darkness. He could make out the scars on Liam’s sternum, spread out like a network of telephone wires. Zayn reached out, stopping before his hand brushed Liam’s chest. Zayn frowned. What the fuck was he doing? What was he waiting for? This was his chance. He reached for the covers, pulling them away.  Zayn crept a hand into Liam’s left pocket. The instant his fingertips brushed the key ring, Liam’s right hand came down and his fingers clamped around Zayn’s wrist.

Zayn’s eyes darted up and he found Liam glaring at him. “I thought we were over this,” Liam said, squeezing his fingers around Zayn’s wrist.

“Liam, I was just…”

“You were looking for my keys so you could get away from me,” Liam said.

“Yes.”

Liam pushed Zayn onto his back, pressing his full weight onto him. “You were lying when you said you don’t want me to leave you alone.” Liam raised Zayn’s hands, holding them above Zayn’s head. “What else have you lied about?”

Zayn winced at the pressure on his right wrist. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” Liam whispered directly into his ear and rocked his hips against Zayn’s groin.

“I swear, there’s nothing else.” Zayn squirmed as Liam pressed his thighs down onto his, rendering him immobile. _Shit_. Zayn was starting to get hard.

“Zayn, be honest,” Liam said, bucking down harder against Zayn. “Are you militia?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn whispered. “I can’t remember.”

Liam stared down at him, his eyes studying Zayn’s. “I wish I could believe you.” He got off Zayn and checked the handcuff on Zayn’s right arm before going around to stand at the foot of the bed. “Take your trousers off.”

Zayn singlehandedly tugged off his trousers, kicking them off his feet. Liam appraised him silently before leaving the room. When he came back he was carrying a pair of scissors, which he used to cut Zayn’s T-shirt off, throwing the pieces of fabric on the floor, leaving Zayn stark naked on the bed.

 “Get yourself hard,” Liam said. Zayn reached down between his legs and began to tug and pull on his cock. He kept his eyes on Liam as he worked himself to full hardness. “Okay, enough.” Obediently, Zayn removed his hand. “Were you telling me the truth when you said you liked my dick?”

“Yes,” Zayn replied. Liam unzipped his cargoes and drew his hard cock out.

“Enough to allow me to put it in your arse?” Liam asked, pushing his cargoes down his hips.

Zayn shook his head. _No._

“Too bad, because that’s what I intend to do.” Liam freed his legs of the cargoes and walked out of the room. He returned with a bottle of olive oil held in one hand.

Zayn felt his heart begin to thud heavily. “Liam, please don’t.”

“We’re back to the mind games.” Liam unscrewed the lid off the olive oil and poured some onto his left hand. He held out his palm and climbed onto the bed, getting in between Zayn’s legs. “Spread your legs wider.”

“I don’t -”

“Do you want me to tie them down again?” Liam asked.

Zayn shook his head and spread his legs as wide as he could. Liam lifted up Zayn’s hips and Zayn felt the oil get patted between the cleft of his cheeks, a finger rubbing over his hole before entering him. This wasn’t different from what his ex-girlfriend had done to him, apart from Liam’s finger being bigger.

“Why did you come so hard yesterday when I said you looked like you needed to get fucked?” Liam asked. Zayn shook his head and moved his hips up, trying to get away from the intrusion of Liam’s finger. He felt another finger slide in alongside the first and Liam’s hand pushed him down onto the bed. “Or was it because I called you pretty? Is that what got you off?”

Liam changed the angle of his fingers and Zayn found himself bucking off the bed as electric pleasure circuited through his body. He reached for his cock and began to stroke himself along to the swipes of Liam’s fingers inside him, barely noticing when another finger entered him, stretching him out. The pace of the fingers increased and Liam held Zayn’s hips down to stop him from thrashing about, not relenting until he had Zayn whimpering low in his throat. He pulled out his fingers and grabbed the oil, pouring some on his hand and spreading it on his dick. He returned to Zayn’s spread thighs and parted Zayn’s arse cheeks with one hand, rubbing the head of his cock against Zayn’s hole, not pushing in, his eyes closed. Zayn wrapped his legs around Liam’s waist, lifting his hips up.

“Zayn, I knew you’d be like this,” Liam moaned as his cock slid into Zayn. “You’re so—” Before Liam could find an adjective, Zayn reached up, grabbed Liam’s neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. Their first, Zayn realised. Liam flinched and pulled away, his eyes opening. He panted over Zayn, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared down at him. Zayn pulled him down by the neck, brushing their lips once more. Zayn slid his tongue alongside Liam’s as Liam began to fuck him. It hurt, he wasn’t going to lie, but it also felt good. Especially when Liam lowered down, pressing their chests together, trapping Zayn’s cock between their bodies.  Zayn rubbed his cock against Liam’s taut stomach, moaning as Liam thrust into him.

“You’re going to make me come,” Liam panted out as he broke the kiss, his cock still working its way in and out of Zayn. He gasped, his mouth falling open as he came deep inside Zayn who rubbed his cock lazily against Liam’s stomach. Liam blinked down at Zayn and carefully pulled out, kissing him once on the lips before crawling down Zayn’s body and immediately placing his mouth on Zayn’s cock. Zayn moaned, thrusting his hips up, his hand coming down to Liam’s head, and he thrust into Liam’s mouth until he came. Liam continued to suck on him before pulling off Zayn’s cock and moving up the bed until he lay beside Zayn, pulling Zayn into his arms as their heart rates slowly went down.

“Thank you,” Zayn whispered.

“For what?”

“For saving my life. I would have died if you hadn’t found me. I never thanked you.”

“Is that what you think that was- you thanking me?”

Zayn didn’t reply.


	21. Chapter 21

Liam knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop. Zayn was on his knees on the bed, hands holding onto the headboard as Liam worked his tongue into his hole. He shouldn’t be having sex with Zayn - he should be keeping watch - but he honestly couldn’t keep his hands off his detainee. He spread Zayn a bit wider and licked into the hole that was still slick and open from his cock. Zayn moaned and Liam didn’t need to feel around to know that Zayn was hard.

He rubbed his own cock against Zayn’s shin, driving his tongue in and out of Zayn. This was not something he’d ever thought he would ever do, but there was something about Zayn that drove him wild. He licked the cleft of Zayn’s arse before pulling back to look at his handiwork.

“You’re missing something,” Liam said, his hands patting Zayn’s buttocks.

“Wha-a?” Zayn stuttered.

“Stay here. I’ll be back shortly.” Liam got to his feet and walked to the living room, where he rummaged around in Zayn’s bags until he found the small black case. He carried it with him back to Zayn’s room, finding Zayn just as he left him, on his hands and knees, his head bent low. Liam climbed onto the bed, kneeling behind Zayn. He unclipped the case.

“I’m not sure how to use this, so bear with me,” Liam said, taking out the pamphlet, tattoo stylus, and ink.

“Use what?” Zayn asked, face bent and parallel with the dishevelled pillows.

“Your tattoo kit,” Liam said, skimming over the instruction pamphlet. Shit read like hieroglyphics to him. He figured it couldn’t be any harder than using a gun; just point and shoot. He placed the container of ink onto the bed.

“Tattoo kit?” Zayn glanced behind him, eyes widening when he saw Liam with the stylus.

“Keep your head down,” Liam said.

“I still had it?” Zayn murmured.

“Still had what?”

“My home tattoo kit.” Zayn shifted on his hands, resting his face on his arms, arse still high up in the air. “I brought it with me when I went to the film festival. My mate Harry wanted me to tattoo him.”

“I’ll be leaving my mark on you.” Liam placed a palm over Zayn’s left arse cheek, patting it slightly. Zayn shivered under his hand. “No matter where you go,” Liam moved his fingers in between Zayn’s arse cheeks, “no matter who you fuck, you’ll have it.” He removed his hand and picked up the stylus, inserting the ink as the pamphlet instructed.

“Please, Liam,” Zayn pleaded.

“Consider this an addition to the collection you already have.” Liam watched the black ink pearl the silver needle and returned his free hand onto Zayn’s left arse cheek.

“Wait.” Zayn raised his head, looking at Liam from over his left shoulder. “Disinfect the area first.”

Liam nodded. “Don’t move a muscle.”

He got off the bed and quickly padded to his station upfront, grabbing the medic kit. Once he had the bottle of disinfectant and cotton balls he returned. He went to work, dabbing the disinfectant on Zayn’s left cheek. When the area was clean he got onto the bed and picked up the stylus.

“Brace yourself,” Liam said.

“I’m not a novice to the tattooing process,” Zayn said, voice muffled by his arms. “I can handle a bit of pain.”

“That’s good to hear.” Liam pressed the needle onto Zayn’s skin, feeling Zayn stiffen under his hand. Liam drew with the stylus, watching Zayn’s skin bead with blood. Liam blotted it away and resumed drawing, panting shallow breaths. His erection returned, causing him to shift on his knees. He dabbed away the blood.

“What is it?” Zayn asked.

“The tattoo?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll see it soon enough.”

“I could guess.”

Liam leaned in and blew on Zayn’s skin. “You’ll guess wrong.”

Zayn turned his head, resting his cheeks on his right forearm. “Your initials?”

Liam snorted. “Wrong.” He pressed the needle onto Zayn’s skin. “Try again.”

“Your date of birth?”

“No.” Liam dabbed the blood away. The hand he had on Zayn’s right arse cheek crept closer to Zayn’s cleft. “Think very carefully before your next attempt.”

Zayn glanced at Liam over his shoulder, his eyes glinting. “What happens if I get it wrong?”

Liam slid his right index finger into Zayn’s cleft, tapping it lightly. “Exactly what’s running through your mind right now.”

“And if I guess right?”

Liam thought for a moment. “I’ll let you go.”

#### ***

 

Zayn looked over his shoulder. Liam’s face was sombre.

“For real?” Zayn asked, raising his head to make eye contact with Liam.

“Yes.” Liam pressed the tattoo gun down onto Zayn’s arse. “You have one last guess.”

Zayn closed his eyes. It wasn’t Liam’s initials or date of birth. Maybe it was something army related; like Liam’s platoon number or the date he enlisted. Which sucked for Zayn because apart from the fact Liam was a soldier, there wasn’t much else that Zayn knew about him.

“Are you going to give it a go?” Liam asked.

“I’m thinking.”

Liam pressed the needle into his skin and Zayn flinched, not expecting it.

“Anytime now, Zayn.” Liam resumed tattooing him.

Zayn brushed his chin on his own arm. He bit into his bicep when Liam pressed the needle into his skin and inserted his finger into his arse.

“Mine,” Zayn gasped out. The needle retreated as did Liam’s finger.

“What was that?” Liam asked.

“The tattoo. It’s four letters,” Zayn said. “MINE.” Liam’s hands returned and then he was patting down gauze over Zayn’s new tattoo, sealing it with tape. Liam put an arm around Zayn’s waist and pulled him up to his knees. “Am I right?”

Liam moved on the bed behind him. The click of a plastic lid. A slick, slapping sound. A warm hand returning to his waist. With no preamble, Liam’s cock slid into him.  

“Fuck,” Zayn gasped. Liam’s hand wrapped around his neck.

“You’ll never belong to me,” Liam’s voice was a low growl. He pounded into Zayn harder. The hand on Zayn’s neck tightened. The pace of Liam’s thrusts were steady and quick. Brutal. The next thrust pushed Zayn up the bed, his temple hitting the wooden headboard. Liam pulled out and slammed into him. Despite the grip Zayn had on the bed sheets the force of Liam’s thrust propelled Zayn headfirst into the headboard. Zayn felt warm blood trickle down his forehead and into his eyes. His vision spotted black.

Liam thrust into him and gasped. The burning heat inside Zayn told him Liam had come. Liam pulled out and Zayn felt himself dragged down the bed. His head pulsed with every intake of breath. He tried to blink his eyes open, feeling stinging blood blind him. Far, in the distance, he heard Liam speak.

 "MMDZ,” Liam’s echoing voice said. “Those are the four letters.”

_What does that mean?_ Zayn wanted to ask, but the ache in his head made him mute.

#### ***

Liam staggered into the bathroom. He fell on his knees, vomiting into the toilet bowl.  His knuckles were white as he gripped the porcelain seat, the smell of his own sick making him more nauseous. The heaves grew dry and he flushed the toilet. Unsteadily, he rose to his feet. The shower was turned on. He stepped inside, shivering as the cold water pelted his skin. He pressed his temple against the wet walls. Zayn. Fuck.

He drove his fist into the wall. Howls ripped from his throat. The devil was back, knocking at his door, pulling him back down below-

It was hot. Dry desert as far as the eye could see. His face burned from the sun and he could hear the buzzing of blowflies. He was stumbling on a gravel road, the taste of dirt still fresh in his mouth. He reached for his radio, trying to call back to his base. All around him he saw bleeding piles of clothes. Not clothes, he realised. Fellow soldiers. All dead. Blown to pieces by the IED. He heard a rumble, growing closer. They would kill him if they got a hold of him. He picked up his service weapon and placed the barrel into his mouth, easing his finger onto the trigger. He squeezed his eyes shut, saying a silent prayer-

Liam snapped into the present. He turned the shower off and stepped out. In front of the mirror he traced the scars on his sternum and stomach; a little gift from his second tour in Afghanistan. A lifetime ago. He dried off, walked back to Zayn’s room, and stood naked at the door. Zayn was slumped face down on the bed. Liam ran a hand through his wet hair and approached. When he saw blood on Zayn’s pillow he rushed to Zayn’s side.

“Zayn.” Liam picked up the keys and unlocked the handcuffs. He turned Zayn around and patted his cheek. “Zayn, wake up.” Zayn blinked his unfocused eyes open.

“Liam?”

“I’ve got you.” Liam grabbed the remaining gauze and pressed it to Zayn’s head. He pulled Zayn into his arms, enveloping him. “No matter what, I’ve got you.” He pressed a kiss to Zayn’s temple.

#### ***

_Bang!_ The sound was vague and far off, half-muted as if Zayn was underwater. He didn’t know where it was coming from. It couldn’t be Liam because Liam was right next to him, warm and solid. Heavy footfall outside. The static of a radio. Liam was scrambling away and Zayn pushed himself up. He opened his eyes and saw Liam pulling on his cargoes.

“What’s happening?” Zayn asked. His entire body felt achy and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool.

Liam pressed his left index to his mouth. _Shhh_. Zayn tried to sit up, but his body just wouldn’t work right. The sound of a door being kicked in was heard and then _thud_. The spots returned in Zayn’s vision and he saw a bright light and figures rushing into the room.

The para militants had found them.

“Liam?” Zayn croaked out. The figures descended on Liam, throwing him onto the floor. The light grew blinding. “Let him go!”

Voices. Indistinct. A staccato. Too loud. Zayn squinted through the black spots, watching Liam get dragged out the door. Zayn saw the figures approach him. The pounding in his temple grew acute. Zayn closed his eyes, letting go and freefell into the abyss.


	22. Chapter 22

His head throbbed and his mouth felt chalky. He kept hearing this beeping sound along with hushed whispers. Slowly, the memories came back. The dark figures, the bright lights, and Liam being dragged away.

“…a contusion on forehead…bruises around neck...past trauma on wrist…” Zayn heard dribs and drabs of a conversation. He faded out.

When he came to later, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was on a hospital bed, tubes running into his arms that were leading to a beeping heart monitor machine. The blue curtains around his bed were pulled shut and he could see three silhouettes standing on the other side of them. A woman was speaking.

 “Nothing life threatening. We’ve taken his blood, but to be prudent I suggest he begin the PEP drug trial before the results come back.”

“Dr Smith, what drug trial?” a voice asked. Male. Very familiar. _Dad?_

“The nurses haven’t informed you on the full extent of your son’s injuries?” the woman asked. Zayn opened his mouth and tried to call for his father. Nothing came out - his throat was too dry.

“They said he suffered some injuries during his attack. Are the post-exposure prophylaxis drugs for tetanus?” another female voice asked. His mum, oh god, it was his mum. He had thought he would never hear her voice again.

“Mr and Mrs Malik, the PEP drugs aren’t for tetanus. The abuse that your son suffered during his abduction wasn’t just physical. Zayn was raped.”

Zayn felt his eyes flutter shut and the world became black again.

#### ***

“Zayn, wake up.” Someone was calling out to him.

“Liam?” Zayn said, opening his eyes. His parents were standing next to the hospital bed and his mum was crying. His dad looked like he was trying not to cry.

“You’re safe from that monster now,” his mum said.

“Did the guerrillas get him?” Zayn asked. His parents looked at someone on their right and he turned to look at who it was. A doctor held a clipboard and took down notes as she read his vitals.

“What gorillas, honey?” his mum asked.

Zayn glanced back at her. “The war. Liam was hiding out from the rebels while he waited for Command,” Zayn said. A thought came to him and he tried to sit up. “Where are the girls? Are they all right?”

“Your sisters are fine,” his dad said.

“Zayn, what else do you remember?” the doctor asked. Zayn recognised her voice from earlier. She was the one who had been talking to his parents.

“He just woke up. Do we have to interrogate him right now?” his dad asked.

“We need to assess the extent-” Dr Smith stopped. “Zayn, I need to talk to your mum and dad for a little bit. Is that okay?”

He didn’t know why she was talking to him like he was a dumb child, but he nodded regardless. His mum kissed his forehead and she left the room with his dad and the doctor. Zayn watched the door get pulled shut before closing his eyes.

#### ***

“Zayn, are you listening?” Dr Michaels was talking again. Zayn doodled on his notebook, giving her the bare minimum of his attention.

 “Yes,” Zayn said, not looking up from his book.

“Did you hear everything I said to you?”

“Liam Payne was a delusional ex-soldier. He was working as an extra on a post-apocalyptic themed war film when an onset explosion triggered his PTSD.” Zayn looked up from his notebook, speaking evenly. “He ran off from the film set and broke into the Assistant Director’s cabin to hide out. When my car crashed, he fell deeper into his delirium and abducted me. Am I missing anything?” Zayn raised an eyebrow.

Dr Michaels wrote something down on her notepad before looking back up at him. “Tell me what happened during the time you were with him in that cabin.”

“You have my medical files. Read it from there.”

“I want to hear it from you,” she said.

Zayn blinked. Liam was sitting on a chair, a smile on his lips. _We do have the whole night to do this if that’s what you want._

“To do what?” Dr Michaels asked.

“Excuse me?”

“You said something. It sounded like ‘we have the whole night to do this if that’s what you want’.”

“I was just remembering,” Zayn said.

“Was that something Liam said to you?”

Zayn wished his hour was up so his mum could pick him up and take him home, but home was only a fraction more tolerable than therapy with Dr Michaels. Ever since he was discharged from the hospital, his parents tiptoed around him, always speaking in gentle low voices when they asked how he was doing.

He heard them arguing at night and his mum’s eyes were always red. His dad looked angry all the time and his sisters seemed scared to talk to him. He knows what they think happened to him and the therapy was to help him cope with it. The thing was, was when he’d been with Liam, it didn’t feel like rape. It’d felt good, and he’d wanted it once he’d been honest with himself, but apparently telling your therapist that you liked getting fucked up the arse by your captor (who was of a questionable mental state) was the wrong thing to say. So he avoided talking about it.

“Liam said a bunch of stuff.”

“Like there being a war and him keeping you at the cabin while he waited for his commanding officers?”

“Yes.”

“And you believed him?”

“He was pretty convincing,” Zayn said.  

“The newspaper he showed you was a prop from Frasier’s Frontier, the film he’d been working on as an extra,” Dr Michaels said.

“It wasn’t just that,” Zayn said. “There was a time when the cabin got attacked by guerrillas. They shot at him and Liam got stabbed.”

Dr Michaels nodded sympathetically. “The cabin was swept down by the crime scene investigators. The only gun shells recovered were from Liam’s rifle. A knife was discovered on site and test results show that the blood and fingerprints on it were Liam’s. What does that tell us?”

“That the cabin was never attacked by guerrillas.”

“And what does that tell you about Liam?” Dr Michaels asked.

“He was manipulating me,” Zayn replied, telling the good doctor what she obviously wanted to hear. 

“He kept you handcuffed in the cabin’s bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened in that room?”

Zayn closed his notebook and sat back on his chair, crossing his arms. “We had sex.”

“Tell me about it.” Dr Michaels waited. The clock ticked on the wall. Zayn didn’t speak. “Did he remove your restraints when he had sex with you?”

“No.”

“Did you tell him, at any stage, that you didn’t want to have sex with him?”

“Yes.”

“What does that tell you?” Dr Michaels asked.

“I got aroused, during - I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy it.”

“You were handcuffed to a bed. You said no,” Dr Michaels said. Zayn didn’t need to listen to this. He got to his feet. “Zayn!”

“Bye, Dr Michaels.” Zayn walked out of her office. He glanced at his wrist watch. Their hour wasn’t up; there was 15 minutes to go. His mum would be picking him up because driving a car made him nervous. He walked past the reception and exited the building, choosing to wait out in the cold. Christmas lights and decorations were up in the office building across the street. He stood next to the Medic Centre entrance, lit up a cigarette, and watched the dancing elves and the festive lights as he waited for his mum.


	23. Chapter 23

Out of all the people that kept calling him a piece of scum, no one had the ability to make him feel more like shit than Niall. The thing was, Niall didn’t say anything. Niall paid his bail and picked him up from the military jail without complaining. He listened diligently as Liam’s doctors explained the cocktail of anti-psychotic and anti-depressants he was supposed to take daily. He boarded Liam in his far too small single bedroom flat when Liam’s parents said they didn’t want him back in the house and not once did he vent out at Liam like he was supposed to.

Under Niall’s strict supervision, Liam saw his court appointed clinical psychologist twice a week and he attended a veteran group sessions every other week, listening to other soldiers talking about the horrors they had suffered in Afghanistan. In comparison to them, he had practically left that god forsaken country unscathed. He had all his limbs, his eyesight, and his hearing was intact. He didn’t have a reason or an excuse for what he had done. He was a piece a shit. A monster. He didn’t deserve to have all of this get swept away by the army. He should have gone to jail for what he had done to Zayn.

When Zayn wouldn’t testify against Liam he was released with a suspended sentence. The army appointed lawyer gave a touching speech about Liam being ‘under duress’ and being ‘emotionally unstable’ from the ‘extended trauma’ he had endured in Afghanistan. Zayn’s parents were pissed, to say the least. When the judge had read his sentence, Zayn’s mum had cried and Zayn’s dad had climbed over the bannister where he got three staggering blows to Liam’s face before someone pulled him away.

“You should go to prison, you animal!” Zayn’s father shouted as he was escorted out of the courtroom. Liam agreed with him, but the law didn’t.

Now he spent his days in his pyjamas, watching the holiday programming on the telly. He waited for Niall to shout at him or kick him out of his flat. Sometimes he went online and he found himself on Zayn’s Facebook account, reading the posts people had made when Zayn had been missing. The latest item on Zayn’s Facebook detailed that he had been found after an extensive search. When some girl named Robin asked where Zayn had been during the time he had been missing, one of his friends, Louis, responded that he couldn’t say because it was a personal, family matter. Louis added that Zayn was recovering well and he and the rest of his family thanked everyone for their prayers during this difficult period.

#### ***

“He has a restraining order on you,” Niall said, making Liam freeze half way out the door. Liam went back inside and shut the door, taking his coat off.

“I wasn’t-”

“Please don’t lie to me. I followed you last week. You’ve been loitering outside his house,” Niall said. “You can’t do that kind of shit. You have to stay 100 yards away from him at all times. If you don’t, his parents will be more than happy to trot your arse off to prison. Is that what you want?”

Liam sat down on the sofa. “That’s what I deserve.”

Niall shook his head sadly. “Liam, you weren’t yourself. You went off your medication and –”

“I forced myself on him,” Liam said. “Did you know that? I handcuffed him to a bed and raped him.”

Niall shut his eyes briefly and said, “I’m aware of that.”

“Then how can you stand to have me around?”

“I’m not saying I understand what you did, but I know enough not to judge you on actions you carried out while under a great deal of mental agony.”

“I need to see him.”

“There’s a piece of paper on that table saying you’re not allowed to,” Niall said. “Liam, please work with me on this.”

“I need to tell him I’m sorry,” Liam said.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Niall said gently. “Go to the bedroom and have a bit of a lay down, yeah?”

Liam nodded. “Okay. You’re right.” Liam went to Niall’s bedroom and closed the door. He climbed out the window and quickly made his way to the tube.

#### ***

The Malik house looked empty. Liam stood across the main road, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The street was deserted, people seeking the recluse of their warm houses away from the cold. Liam stuffed his hands into his trousers and looked up and down the street before he crossed it.

He easily jumped the small fence and went to the back of the house, trying out the rear door and finding it locked. He broke the basement window and climbed inside. The basement was used as a storage room by the look of the old furniture, toys, and clothes stuffed in various boxes. He went up the stairs.

The living room was empty, and he walked to the cabinets, finding a framed picture of Zayn and his family. He picked it up, noting how happy they all looked. Liam set it down and went to the stairs. He climbed up the stairs and approached the last room in the upstairs floor - Zayn’s. This he knew from his surveillance of the house. He opened the door and paused, breathing in, letting Zayn’s scent fill his lungs. A door adjacent to the room opened and out walked Zayn, his hair wet, wearing only a towel, startling when he saw Liam in his room.

Liam held his hands out. “I know I’m not supposed to be here and you have a restraining order against me. I know you hate me but I needed to see you and -.”

Zayn closed the space between them, threw his arms over Liam’s shoulders, and kissed him.


	24. Chapter 24

“I knew you’d come,” Zayn whispered, pressing in to kiss Liam.

“Zayn, I shouldn’t -,” Liam said.

“I want you to.” Zayn reached for him. “They keep trying to convince me that you brainwashed me, but I know the truth. They can’t understand this.” Zayn’s leg hit the bed and he sank back onto it, the towel dropping to his feet as he pulled Liam down on top of him.

“Zayn?” Liam asked when he realised Zayn was naked underneath him. Zayn rolled onto his side, feeling underneath his bed, and pulled out lotion. He handed it to Liam. Liam sat back and unbuckled his jeans, yanking blindly at the zipper. Once his dick was free, Liam squeezed lotion onto his hands before smearing some onto his cock and Zayn’s hole. Zayn lifted his legs up when Liam started to drive his finger into him.

“I missed you,” Zayn moaned out, reaching down for Liam’s aching cock, giving it a few squeezes.

“Me too,” Liam worked a second finger into Zayn, scissoring them out. Liam withdrew his fingers, lined his cock against Zayn’s hole and slowly, ever so slowly eased into him. Zayn wrapped his legs around Liam as Liam picked up his pace, driving quickly in and out.

“Put your fingers into my mouth,” Zayn whimpered. Liam lifted his left hand and placed it onto Zayn’s chin before putting his index and middle finger into Zayn’s mouth. Zayn eagerly sucked on his fingers, the hinges of his small single bed squeaking when Liam began to pound harder into him. Zayn worked his tongue in between Liam’s fingers, licking, before he resumed his sucking.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Liam shuddered. His body convulsed as he fucked Zayn through his orgasm. Once it subsided, he pulled out and tossed Zayn facedown onto the bed. He spread Zayn’s cheeks and lowered his face between Zayn’s arse, licking his come out as Zayn moaned, pushing his arse back into Liam’s face. Liam reached under Zayn, pulled his mouth from Zayn’s arse, and drew his balls into his mouth. He needed Zayn’s cock in his mouth so he flipped Zayn around and drew the rigid flesh into his mouth, sliding two fingers into Zayn’s hole, sucking on Zayn’s cock until Zayn was coming. He pulled back and licked his way up Zayn’s body. “I thought you hated me,” Liam whispered.

“I could never hate you,” Zayn said.

“They say I did awful things to you. I kept you tied up and I hurt you.” Liam shifted beside Zayn as he tucked his cock back into his pants. He was so eager to get his cock inside Zayn, Liam realised he hadn’t even fully undressed. “I forced myself on you.”

“Were you forcing me right now?” Zayn asked.

“No.”

“Because I wanted you,” Zayn said.

“Back at the cabin I never gave you a choice.”

“If you asked me, I’d leave with you,” Zayn said, placing his hand on Liam’s cheek. “Please ask me.”

“Zayn, you’re in Uni and you’ve got your entire life ahead of you. I’m a 21 year old fucked up war vet - there’s no future with me. Don’t let me hold you back.”

“You wouldn’t be holding me back,” Zayn said. He kissed Liam on the mouth, slow and lingering. “You took care of me.”

“You don’t need me to take care of you.” Liam let go of Zayn and zipped up his jeans. He glanced at Zayn, who was still naked on the bed. “I can’t-”

“Zayn!” he heard an alarmed voice call. The door was thrown open and a boy ran in, his eyes darting to Liam, who was in the process of buckling his belt, and then to Zayn, who pulled his duvet up over his naked groin. “You must be bloody kidding me!” The boy ran to stand in front of Zayn’s bed and held out his fist, waving it in front of Liam’s face. “There’s a restraining order against you,” the guy said.

“Louis, my parents placed that order, not me,” Zayn pleaded.

“This mad man imprisoned you,” Louis said. “I think there was more than enough cause.” He shook his fist in front of Liam. “Get the fuck out before I call the police.”

“Zayn, I meant what I said. Forget about me, move on with your life,” Liam said, trying to meet Zayn’s eyes, but Louis moved around, blocking him. He walked down the stairs, taking them two at a time, stopping to turn around when he heard the heavy thud of footsteps behind him. Louis stood on top of the stairs, eyes blue steel.

“So you thought you would come around and fuck with Zayn’s head some more?” Louis asked. “Don’t you think you’ve given him enough grief?”

“I’m leaving.” Liam continued walking down the stairs, hearing Louis’ footsteps behind him.

“He’s confused and actually thinks that he cares you,” Louis said. Liam ignored him and headed to the open front door. “Leave and don’t come back. Out of a favour to Zayn, I’m not reporting the little breaking and entering you’ve just committed.”

Liam walked out, slamming the door.

#### ***

Trust Louis to show up when he wasn’t wanted. Zayn didn’t need him acting like his bodyguard. He had his back to the door, smoothing out the rumpled bedding, when he heard Louis walk back into his room. He knew the exact second when Louis saw it and Zayn turned to face Louis, picked up his discarded towel, and wrapped it around his waist, but it was too late.

Louis marched across the room and yanked the towel off him, turning Zayn around. “What the fuck is that?”

“A tattoo,” Zayn answered.

 “When did you get it?”

Zayn pulled his arm free from Louis and walked to his wardrobe, looking for something to wear. “Recently.”

“That psycho gave it to you, didn’t he?”

Zayn pulled on a pair of pants, his jeans, and a faded T-shirt. Louis was still glowering, his eyes infuriated. Zayn raised a brow. “What?”

“He tied you up, fed you his nonsense, he fuckin raped-” Louis sat down on the bed. “And he branded you, yet you wouldn’t testify against him. He needs to go to prison for what he did. Yet you’re sleeping with him and looking at me like you don’t fucking recognise me. Zayn, I don’t understand you anymore.”

Zayn walked across the room and sat down beside Louis on the bed. “You weren’t there, in the cabin.” He roughed a hand through his damp hair, trying to find the right words. “You don’t know what it was like when it was just the two of us.” He glanced at Louis who looked confused and sad. Zayn sighed, “Never mind.”

He would never be able to explain his relationship with Liam to Louis.  Half the time, he didn’t even know how to explain it to himself. But he knew what he felt and what he wanted. It would take more than a restraining order to keep him away from Liam. 


	25. Chapter 25

“How are you similar to Liam?” Dr Michaels asked, perching her reading glasses on her nose with one hand, the other clutching a pen as she prepared to take down notes. Zayn shrugged, putting his feet up on the recliner.

“We’re both lads,” Zayn replied. “We’re both from working class families, we both the have over protective sisters…”

“How are you different to Liam?”

“I’m not a soldier,” Zayn said. “I don’t like guns, I would never join the army - not voluntarily anyway. Liam’s really brave—he broke into my house yesterday so that he could see me.”

 “How did you feel when you saw him?”

“Happy,” Zayn said. “We had sex.”

“Zayn, before the abduction, were you sexually attracted to men?” Dr Michaels asked.

“I hadn’t had sex with a man before, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Zayn said. “Liam isn’t like other guys.”

“How so?”

“He’s – it’s hard to explain, he just is.”

“Zayn, tell me about the time when you felt Liam was more powerful than you.”

“I was tied to a bed for most of my stay with Liam. I think it’d be easier to tell you a time when I felt weaker than him.”

“Not once during those 21 days did you ever feel you had the upper hand?”

Zayn thought about it. “There was this time when Liam came into my room with a cigarette and he said if I wanted one, I would have to kiss him for it.”

“How did this make you feel like you had the upper hand?”

“I realised he was attracted to me and I thought I could seduce him, get the cabin keys, and escape.”

“Did you seduce him?”

“I tried to – he got angry and told me to stop playing games,” Zayn said.

“Are you afraid of him?” she asked. 

Zayn shook his head. He wasn’t afraid of Liam – he was worried. He recalled the haunted look he had seen in Liam’s eye when they had been having sex. Liam hated himself for what he had done. He didn’t understand how Zayn could forgive him. Louis had berated Zayn on the same thing. He had been right when he told Liam that no one could understand what they were or how they felt. Not Louis, not his parents, and certainly not Dr Michaels, but she meant well and the sessions were confidential so it was pointless to lie to her.

“Would you say you are in love with him?”

“Yes,” Zayn said firmly, not caring how she would take that. He’d had enough of people trying to dictate how he should feel. ‘Professor’ Tomlinson and his parents had provided their own two bit diagnosis on him. Why couldn’t they see that he realised what Liam did, but loved him regardless?

Dr Michaels opened Zayn’s patient file and pulled out a few pages. “Liam kept a journal during the time he was holding you captive.”

“I know, it’s his war journal. Sergeants advise them to write in it when they join the army.”

“Yes, we are aware of that particular journal, but the one I’ll be reading out to you today is his other one, his private journal. It was about you.” Dr Michaels put on her glasses and read, “ _Today he finally let me inside of him and I know that he is what I’ve been waiting for. I don’t think I can ever let him go. I would rather be a rotting corpse than to be away from him_.” Dr Michaels put down the pages and steepled her fingers. “Tell me, what’s the problem with the passage I’ve just read?”

“Liam sounds a bit possessive,” Zayn said.

“Yes, he does.” Dr Michaels picked up her pen and wrote down some notes. Once she was done, she looked up. “Did you know that the police found holes drilled into the walls of the cabin?” Zayn shook his head. “Liam was watching you through the walls.”

 “He was following Command’s orders.”

“Zayn, there is no command.” Dr Michaels glanced at the clock. “Our time’s up, so we’ll go deeper into this in our next session. I’ll see you next week at the same time.”

 

#### ***

Harry was doing it again; looking at Zayn with big, injured green eyes and making Zayn feel awful for tumbling his car down a hill, getting abducted, and traumatising poor Harry Styles. Sometimes Zayn thought the whole thing affected Harry more than him. He was glad his parents and Louis hadn’t shared the ‘sexual assault’ debacle with Harry. He’d had enough of being treated like a victim.

“Here’s your cup of tea,” Harry said, handing Zayn the teacup. Zayn took it and realised when Harry hadn’t moved away that the other lad expected him to drink it. He took a sip. It had too much milk and sugar.

“Hmm,” Zayn said. “It’s really good.” He preferred Liam’s, to be honest, but a smile broke out on Harry’s face, making the white lie worth it.

“Good. I couldn’t remember if you took two or three sugars, so I put three,” Harry said, sitting down on the sofa. “The BBC 1 Christmas special is about to start. They’ll be showing live carolling from outside Buckingham palace.”

“Sounds like fun,” Zayn chimed. It didn’t and he wished Harry would go home so he could call Liam and see if he could meet up with him. He was getting the sinking feeling that Louis or his parents had put Harry on Zayn-watch to keep him away from ‘that lunatic’.  They watched the telly for a bit and Zayn sipped on the sickly sweet tea with Harry occasionally glancing at him. Eventually it became too much. Zayn grabbed the remote and muted the telly. “What?”

“What really happened when you were abducted?” Harry asked. “Louis says you were kept as a prisoner, but his voice gets all weird and I know there’s more to it.”

“Harry, do you honestly want to know?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“My parents and Louis are all up in arms over this because,” Zayn sighed heavily, “they think Liam raped me.”

Harry frowned. “Why would they think that?”

“Because he and I had sex while I was handcuffed to a bed,” Zayn said and waited for the waterworks.

“Okay.” Harry picked up his own teacup and sipped. Zayn stared at him.

“You’re not upset?”

“Why should I be? You’re not broken up over it.”

“But everyone else has made it into this huge thing.”

“Zayn, I was scared mindless with worry when you were missing,” Harry said. “And then you came back and no one would tell me what happened. I started fearing for the worst, but I trust your reasoning skills. If you believe that the sex was consensual, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Do you really want to watch this programme?” Zayn asked as he unmuted the telly.

“Louis instructed me to keep you occupied with good clean fun,” Harry said. “To answer your question - not really.”

Zayn switched the telly off. “How about this? Do you want to go meet up with Liam tonight?”


	26. Chapter 26

They were watching Coronation Street when someone knocked on the door. Liam glanced at Niall, who shrugged.

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Niall said. The implication of Niall’s words was that it might be someone here to see Liam, which was absurd, because apart from Niall, Liam didn’t have other mates. He had lost touch with all of them when he joined the army a week after his sixteenth birthday.

“I’ll go see who it is.” Liam got up and made his way to the front door, opened it, and found Zayn and another boy he recognised as being Harry, boyfriend to Louis, and Zayn’s mate.

“Hey,” Zayn said, leaning through the door to kiss him once on the lips. “This is Harry. We were in the neighbourhood.”

“Hi, Harry.” Liam shook Harry’s hand and stepped back to allow them in.

“I hope you don’t mind us dropping in like this,” Zayn said as he took off his coat and threw it on the chair Niall and Liam used as a coat stand.

“No, not at all,” Liam said. “Niall and I were just watching Coronation Street.”

“I love that soap,” Harry said, walking in. He sat down on the sofa next to Niall and introduced himself. Liam pulled Zayn to the kitchen.

“I’m surprised Harry came with you to see me,” Liam said in a hushed whisper. “Last I checked, I was the devil incarnate.”

“Harry thinks a bit differently in comparison to other people,” Zayn said. He pulled Liam forward by his belt buckle and kissed him.  “Let’s go to your room,” he murmured when he pulled away from Liam’s lips.

“I don’t have a room.” Liam grabbed Zayn’s hands and cupped them to his chest. “I sleep on the sofa.”

“I’m sure your flatmate won’t mind us using his bed for an hour or so.” Zayn nuzzled Liam’s neck. Liam closed his eyes when Zayn licked up his neck, his mind darting to what his psychologist had said in their last meeting. He extracted himself from Zayn’s arms.

“Head to the bedroom. It’s the first door on the left. I’ll come through in a bit,’’ he said. Zayn broke out into a full grin and headed down the corridor. Liam took a breath and followed after him. Niall and Harry were talking animatedly on the sofa, the soap background noise more than anything else. “Hey, Zayn and I need to talk for a bit in your room. That’s fine, yeah?”

By the disappointed look in Niall’s eyes it wasn’t fine, but with Harry right there, Niall wouldn’t say anything. He gave Liam a nod and Liam quickly walked to Niall’s room. Zayn was already half undressed and was working on getting the half that remained off. He turned to the door and smiled at Liam.

“There you are,” Zayn said as he hopped out of his jeans. Liam closed the door and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest.

“Get dressed, we’re not having sex,” Liam said, watching Zayn’s smile fade abruptly.

 Zayn walked over to Liam, placing his hands on Liam’s chest. “I know you want me.”

 “Maybe I want to talk to you for a change.” Liam pushed Zayn’s hands off his chest. “Or maybe I just don’t feel like fucking right now.”

“It never mattered to you when I didn’t want to fuck!” Zayn shouted, following Liam to the bed. “You just fucked me anyway.”

 Liam closed his eyes, remembering all the awful things he’d done to Zayn. Oh god, the things he had said. He opened his eyes and pulled off the jersey he was wearing and next was the shirt followed by his shoes and socks. He reached down for his buckle and quickly undid it, pulled his trousers and underpants down in one smooth movement before getting on the bed, lying on his back.

“Okay, let’s fuck,” Liam said, spreading his legs. Zayn stood watching by the bed, a slight frown on his face.

“This isn’t what I was hoping for and you know it,” Zayn said.

“You want to fuck, so chop, chop – have at it,” Liam said, widening his legs. Zayn pulled down the black briefs he wore, revealing his semi-hard cock as he stepped toward the bed falteringly. The bed dipped as he knelt in the space between Liam’s thighs. He reached down a hand to squeeze and fondle Liam’s cock.

“You don’t want this,” Zayn said, removing his hand from Liam’s flaccid dick.

“It doesn’t matter. Just fuck me, please,” Liam said, staring up at Zayn’s face, feeling his eyes tear up. Zayn moved off Liam and collapsed beside him.

“I can’t do it,” Zayn said.

“And you shouldn’t have to do something you don’t want to do.” Liam brushed at his tears. Liam turned on his side to face Zayn. “Why would you want to be with me after everything I’ve done?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I just feel quiet when you’re around. Safe. Accepted. Warm.”

“That’s not love – that’s co-dependency.”

“Who told you that? Your court-appointed therapist?” Zayn scoffed.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Liam said.

“You want to finish with me? Is that it?” Zayn asked, getting onto his forearms.

“I think we never really got to know each other as people and what we’re doing right now isn’t healthy for either of us, so maybe some time apart-”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want you to leave me alone,” Zayn said and he pressed his head to Liam’s chest. “Please don’t leave me.” Liam patted Zayn’s head, hating himself for what he was doing. _Wretched piece of shit. You should’ve just fucking died in combat._

“You need to go back to Uni,” Liam said, trying to keep his voice even. “I need to find out who I am outside of combat, in the real world.”

“You said that you’d always be there for me.”

“And I will. But first I need to get my shit together otherwise I’m no use to you.” He kissed the top of Zayn’s head. “I’ll come back for you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”


	27. Chapter 27

Zayn sat on the campus lawns, smoking a cigarette, catching some much needed Vitamin D in between lectures. Harry sat beside him, his face buried in a book, leaning against the trunk of a tree.

“I could easily spend the rest of the semester sitting here,” Harry said, putting the book down.

“So could I.” Zayn flicked some ash from his cigarette onto the grass. “My next class is Renaissance Art and I hate the guy who teaches it.”

“Professor Baker?”

“Yep, that one. I’ve never met a bigger wanker than him,” Zayn replied.

“I’ll be having him next semester.”

“Prepare to have all joy sucked from your life every time you step into Venue D1.” Zayn took a drag of his cigarette. Harry put his book away and bumped his right shoulder with Zayn’s left.

“Apart from Professor Evil, how’s life been?” Harry asked.

“Pretty good. I sleep in late, attend lectures, smoke, and go to a few parties,” Zayn said.  “Pretty standard Uni activities.”

“You seem happy.”

“I feel happy,” Zayn said.

“It looks good on you,” Harry said. He got to his feet and held out a hand to Zayn. “Unfortunately, we can’t sit here forever. Let’s go.”

#### ***

Three AM and the party didn’t look like it was any close to dying out. Liam stood in the shadows, smoking one of Zayn’s cigarettes. It wasn’t from the box he retrieved from Zayn’s car; just the same brand. He liked to think of them as being Zayn’s. Even from a distance, he could hear the thump of the music trickling out of the brightly lit club. He exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, watching as two girls drunkenly stumbled out of the door, precariously balancing on thin heels.

This was the third time Zayn was visiting this establishment this month. It was also the third time that Liam stood outside, chain-smoking and waiting until Zayn would leave, usually with Harry and Louis in tow, walking to his residence on campus. Liam was always careful to linger back, making sure he wasn’t spotted by the other boys. Only once Zayn was safely in did Liam get into his crappy car and return to his rundown flat.

He had told Niall he had found a job and didn’t need to stay with him anymore. Niall had been sceptical. Liam paid Niall in full for his portion of the rent for the months he had been living with Niall, then moved out a week later. He hadn’t lied. He did have a job, but it wasn’t as a day mechanic at a fellow soldier’s repair shop.

He’d bumped into some people he knew back when he’d been living in Wolverhampton - they knew he had served in the army and were looking for someone with his skill set to escort them when they visited some people. He just had to carry a gun, look imposing, and if shit ever went down, throw a punch or two, and if push came to shove, discharge the gun. Liam had thought, why not? He worked a few hours a week, the pay was good, and he was left with more than enough free time to look in on Zayn.

He served the last of his court appointed therapy sessions that last week and he couldn’t say he was sad to have seen the last of his psychologist. When their time had been up, his doctor had put his hand on his shoulder, furrowing his thick white eyebrows.

“Liam, your feelings for Zayn are part of your psychosis,” his doctor said. “As much as you feel like you need him, you don’t. His love isn’t going to help combat this disease. Dedication to your medication and continued attendance to the group counselling will. You hear me?”

Liam had nodded. His doctor patted him on the back and signed Liam’s counselling release forms. Two days later, Liam stopped taking his medication, moved out of Niall’s place, and into a flat five kilometres from Zayn.

#### ***

One of Harry’s mates was leaning across the table, shouting directly into Zayn’s ear. The hand he had on Zayn’s shoulder was too familiar, his cologne too sharp in Zayn’s nostrils.

“How about it?” the guy asked.

“I don’t feel like dancing,” Zayn said. The guy, Mick, he thought it was, smiled widely.

“I bet you look good on the dance floor,” Mick said.

“Believe me, I don’t.” Zayn took a sip of his drink and he looked around to see if he could spot Harry and Louis. The club was suffocatingly full and there were writhing bodies moving on the dance floor. He couldn’t spot his mates in the gyrating mess.

“Just dance,” Mick said, winking. Oh, now Zayn got it. He raked his brain, not finding a catchy retort.

“Do you know where Harry and Louis disappeared to?” Zayn asked.

Mick shrugged. “They probably found a dark corner to grope one another.” He leaned in close to Zayn. “We could do the same, if you want.”

“No thanks,” Zayn said. He finished his drink in one swallow and grabbed his cellphone from the table. “If you see them, tell them I’ve gone back to the res.”

Zayn navigated the sweaty bodies, heading towards the door. He stepped outside, unaware that Mick had followed after him, until he smelt that too sweet cologne and felt an arm drape over his shoulders.

“Let me walk you back,” Mick said, pulling Zayn toward him. “It’s the least I can do after all those awful pick-up lines.”

“There’s no need,” Zayn said, side stepping Mick. “Go back inside and ask someone else to dance.” Zayn gave him a smile.

Mick looked uncertain. “You sure?”

“Yup. See you around.” Zayn patted his arm and turned to walk away.

He walked quickly to campus, let himself into his room, and promptly passed out. He woke up with the sun shining directly into his eyes and got up, dished himself some cereal, and sat on the sofa to watch Sunday cartoons. Harry and Louis showed up a few minutes later, their faces serious.

“Have you heard?” Harry asked.

“Heard what?”

“What happened to Nick,” Harry said.

“Who’s Nick?”

“The lad you were chatting with last night,” Louis said, sitting down beside Zayn.

“Mick?” Zayn asked. “What happened?”

“He left the club with some guy. His flatmate found him beaten within an inch of his life earlier,” Harry said.

“Shit.”

“Police have released a description of the suspect,” Louis said, giving a pointed look to Harry.

“Eyewitnesses say the guy who beat Nick up was white, tallish with cropped hair,” Harry described from where he sat on the other side of Zayn. “He had a birthmark on his neck.”


	28. Chapter 28

Liam washed the blood off his hands in his kitchen sink. He turned off the faucet and quickly stripped off his jacket and T-shirt, dropping them onto the floor. He opened his small fridge and pulled out a beer can, cracking it open and swallowing it down. He crushed the empty can and threw it onto the floor.

He staggered into his living room, shoving pizza containers and newspapers aside until he found his medication. He unclipped the container and placed two pills onto his palm, staring down at them.  Things seemed so much clearer when he went without the pills. His feelings weren’t corked down by the drugs and he felt things more deeply. His memories of Zayn grew sharper, brighter around the edges, eclipsing everything else he felt.

God, it had been incredible seeing Zayn last night. He had stepped out of the club, shrugging on his coat. Liam had thought about jogging across the street and saying hello to him. Harry and Louis were nowhere in sight, so he would have been able to talk to Zayn without having glowering, accusatory looks being thrown at him. He’d dropped his cigarette and stepped forward, pausing mid-stride when some man followed Zayn out and placed his arms over Zayn’s shoulders.

Liam had watched from across the street. Zayn had been smiling and the man was whispering in Zayn’s ear.  When Zayn placed his hand on the man’s arm, blood had pulsed loudly in Liam’s ears and his hands curled into tight fists. He watched Zayn say something and walk off, leaving the man staring after him. Liam had dropped his half-smoked cigarette and followed the man into the club.

Everything that happened after was a blur; him stepping up next to the guy and leading him to the dance floor. He remembered whispering into the guy’s ear and then leaving the club. The guy drove them to his place in his Polo and introduced himself as Nick when he let Liam into his flat, and then Liam had descended on him, punching him over and over and over.

Liam stared at his bruised hands. He’d fucked up. He put the pills back into their bottle and got to his feet. He quickly went to his room and pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt. He dressed and pulled out a bag, putting all his clothes into it. He went into the small bathroom and collected the few items he had there. In the living room, there wasn’t much that belonged to him. He grabbed his keys and looked at the bottle of pills that were on his living room table. There was no room for them where he was going.

He flipped the light switch and left.

#### ***

“You don’t know it’s Liam,” Zayn said.

“How many other guys do you know who have birthmarks on their necks and have reasons to want to beat up a guy that you interacted with?” Louis asked.

“Nick’s injuries are serious,” Harry said. “Have you been in contact with Liam?”

“Not since that night at Niall’s,” Zayn said.

“I’ll ask Niall if Liam was out last night.” Harry pulled out his phone and got up, his fingers dialling.

“You need to leave with me and Harry,” Louis said. “Come stay with us for a bit.”

“There really isn’t a need for that.”

“This psycho has already abducted you once so what’s to stop him from doing it again?’

“He’s better now,” Zayn said.

“There is no better for what he has.” Louis placed a hand on Zayn’s arm. “He may get treatment, but he’ll always be fucked in the head.”

Zayn shook Louis’ hand off. “You don’t know shit, so fuck right off.” Zayn got to his feet, his head spinning. Had Liam really returned and beat up Nick? It wasn’t difficult for Zayn to imagine Liam doing it. If he had been watching Zayn, he probably had read the situation wrong and jumped to conclusions. There hadn’t been anyone else since him and Zayn was pretty sure that there would never be. No one could ever be what Liam was to him, not that he voiced that opinion, not even to Harry, who tried to be understanding in his own way.

There was no way that he could tell them that he felt like an imposter in his own life, how he was counting down the days until Liam came back and he could stop playing this role that no longer fit him. He didn’t belong here at Uni. He was sleepwalking through it all, going through all the motions. His heart wasn’t in it. He was still in that cabin, the winter storm raging outside, Liam at his side, seeing him through it. The rest of it didn’t matter. The rest of them he didn’t need.

“Niall says Liam moved out of his flat a few weeks back,” Harry said, walking to the sofa where Louis sat.

“Does he know where he went to?” Louis asked.

“Nope.” Harry sat beside Louis, bumping his shoulder. He glanced at Zayn, who was still glowering, arms crossed. “I agree with Louis. Come stay with us.”

“No,” Zayn said.

Harry studied him. “You want him to come back.”

Louis glanced between Harry and Zayn. “What? Zayn knows that psycho was bad news all along.”

“He’s not denying it,” Harry said.

 “Bloody hell. Zayn, why would you want him after all he’s done?” Louis’ eyes were blazing, his face flushing. “After you looked me in the eye and promised not to get embroiled in his shit again.”

“I lied,” Zayn said. “I know you mean well, but this is something I decided - I’m choosing Liam.”

“And you expect me to sit back and watch you walk off into the fucking sunset? Like fuckin-” Louis was silenced by Harry patting his arm.

“The police will be looking for him,” Harry said. “Nick will wake up and once he does, he’ll formally identify Liam. There are a handful of witnesses from the club. Liam’s going to jail for this.”

“About bloody time,” Louis muttered.

“We’ll face that when we have to,” Zayn said. “If you are done with the lecturing, I’d like to finish my breakfast in peace.”

Louis and Harry looked at each other. _At least we tried_ , their twin expressions seemed to say.

#### ***

Zayn sat on his sofa with all the lights off, his suitcase on the floor beside his feet. He watched his door handle twist and a figure stepped in.

“MMDZ,” Zayn called out in the dark. “I’ve spent hours trying to figure what it means.” Liam walked to the sofa, his eyes flitting briefly to the suitcase.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Liam asked. He dropped to his knees beside Zayn, placing his hands on Zayn’s knees.

“Yes,” Zayn said. “I do.”

“Make me different, Zayn,” Liam said. “That’s what the letters stand for.” He brought Zayn’s hands to his mouth, kissing them.

“What if I can’t?” Zayn asked, leaning into Liam.

“Then promise me you’ll try.” Liam pulled Zayn forward and kissed him. “That’s all I ask.”

“The police are looking for you so we can’t stay.” Zayn nuzzled against Liam.

“I know.” Liam got to his feet and reached a hand out to Zayn. “You’re coming with me?”

“Yes.”

“You sure? We won’t be returning.”

“I know.”

They walked to the door, arm in arm, the suitcase trailing behind them. Tomorrow he’d call his parents. He’d tell them not to search for him. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but it had to be done; they’d already suffered the pain of a missing child. He’d call Harry and Louis and say his goodbyes. At least they already sort of expected it. They shut the door behind them and walked down the stairs. When they reached the car, Liam unlocked it and threw Zayn’s suitcase into the back. He turned around, kissed Zayn hard on the mouth, and got into the car, starting the engine before speeding them off down the quiet street.

Not once did Zayn look back.

 

####  **The End**


End file.
